


a world away

by silvyri



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Again it's Wade, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Desert Island Fic, Disabled Character, Explicit Sexual Content, FRIDAY play jungle sounds, Flower Crowns, Hair-pulling, It's Wade, Leaf Skirts, Love Bites, M/M, Man-Eating Tentacle Aliens, NOT Sand, Off-Screen Alien Invasion, Or Understand Language, Size Difference, Spideypool Big Bang 2019, Temporary Character Death, Wade Can't Talk, Wade's A Mystery, coconut oil as lube, mild Self-harm, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: Peter is saved by a mysterious scarred stranger when a extraterrestrial stowaway causes the Avenjet to break apart mid-flight over the Pacific Ocean. Stranded on a deserted tropical island with the man who can’t seem to get the hang of verbal communication, Peter struggles with not knowing how his friends and family are faring in an alien infested New York, his growing feelings for the man he names Wade, and how Wade came to be on their little island in the first place.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 159
Kudos: 815
Collections: Haven't started yet, Spideypool Big Bang - The 2019 Collection





	1. freefall

**Author's Note:**

> !!! This is my submission for the Spideypool Big Bang 2019 run on the 18+ Isn't It Bromantic? server on discord. I've always wanted to write a deserted island fic so here it is!
> 
> ALSO LOOK AT THE AMAZING ART??? LIKE OMG??? Done by the absolutely amazing, super talented and so sweet Limeonik on Tumblr. Please go check her art out, it's all so awesome!
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas, JolinarJackson and Nimohtar, you guys did an awesome job. Thank you so much for your feedback and for correcting my abysmal grammar and spelling. 
> 
> Thanks so much to the mods for the event as well! Nimohtar, LunaStories and MsCaptainWinchester; you guys are 10/10 for running the event. I loved participating and I look forward to the next Spideypool Big Bang!
> 
> Also, if you haven't read the other submissions for the Big Bang please checkout the Spideypool Big Bang 2019 tag here on ao3 to check them out! There's been some really amazing fics and art!

Peter can’t think.

The air howls past his ears, his heart pounds, he can’t breathe. The world spins around him, hail biting into his skin, thunder booming around him so loud his bones shake, lightning flashing so close he feels the heat of it against his skin.

He might be screaming; he’s definitely panicking. The fiery remains of the Avenjet rain down around him, the orange flares of the pieces seering through the dark as he plummets through the roiling clouds towards the black ocean below. 

Blood obscures his vision, but he can just make out the form of the alien tumbling down just as he is, its long black limbs flailing as it wails. Peter can only hope that the fall kills it as well.

The ocean draws closer. Peter covers his head with his arms, curling up in a tight ball and squeezing his eyes shut. The roaring of the angry water grows louder with every second; he can almost taste the salty spray the massive waves throw up.

He hits the water, and everything goes black.

~~~

He hurts.

He’s hot.

It’s bright.

Peter groans, blinking blearily up at the sun searing into his eyeballs. Everything is blurry, his vision smearing as he tries to focus. His head feels like it’s full of salt water, his mouth is so dry. He’s too hot. He  _ hurts _ .

Something blocks the unrelenting sun. 

“Wha?” Peter rasps. He thinks he sees brown eyes, strangely marked skin, the curve of an ear. He’s not sure. It could be anything. 

A touch on his cheek, but Peter’s already falling away.

~~~

When Peter wakes up again, he’s blessedly  _ cool. _

_ Thank fuck,  _ he thinks to himself. He goes to sit up and bites off a pained yell, collapsing back into the sand, breathing heavily through his nose. Tears leak from the corner of his eyes, tracking down the side of his face.

Holy shit, that  _ hurts.  _

Peter whimpers, swallowing around a dry, swollen tongue.  _ Okay, _ he thinks,  _ not going to do that again. _ His entire body is just one massive hurt; his ribs feel like they’re on fire, his right thigh and hip are throbbing, his arms ache like he’s pulled every muscle in them and his head feels like someone has taken a jackhammer to it. He tries to lift a hand to press down on his middle to see if his ribs are broken, but his shoulder practically screams at him and every joint on his arm flares up with pain. He gives up before he’s even lifted a finger. 

_Okay, not doing that either._ _On to Plan C._

Carefully, he blinks open his eyes. They’ve crusted over, his eyelashes sticking together, but he manages to focus upwards after a couple seconds of black spots swimming across his vision.

A low hanging rocky ceiling greets him. Peter blinks up at it, squinting, and then slowly, carefully, turns his head to the left, his neck throbbing painfully as he moves. 

He almost has a heart attack. 

There’s a man kneeling in the sand next to him. He’s completely naked and bald, only covered by twisted, gnarled scars that cover every inch of his skin, some deep and red, others raised and shiny white. He’s just sitting there, watching Peter, and when Peter jumps in fright and then freezes, whining in the back of his throat and trembling with pain, the man makes a small, worried noise, big hands reaching for him. 

“ _ No,”  _ Peter rasps, panicking, “don’t touch me.” The words are strained and quiet, hardly more than a whisper, but the man stops mid-movement, his face drawn. Peter stares at him, feeling his heart hammer away in his chest. He wants to get up and hide but his body is useless, so all he can do is lie there like a beached whale and hope that the man won’t hurt him. 

But the man doesn’t make any other movements, just fists his hands on his thighs as Peter heaves frightened breaths and then clenches his eyes shut, fighting to get his panic under control. When he opens his eyes again he’s calmer, but black spots dance across his vision, the stabbing pain in his head stronger. He feels faintly nauseous. 

He looks at the man again, his eyes squinted in suspicion. “Who- who are you? Where am I?” He croaks, the sound grating out of his dry throat. 

But the man doesn’t reply, just cocks his head to the side, still frowning. He makes a strange, guttural noise and then reaches for something at his side. 

Peter’s pulse spikes but the man only holds up half of a coconut shell, showing Peter the liquid inside. Peter’s mouth would water if he had any moisture left in his body, but all he can do is let out a small, begging whine. He’s  _ so thirsty. _

The man reaches for him again. Peter flinches away, whimpering, and the man makes a low, soothing hum, his hand hovering over Peter’s shoulder. Peter eyes it, and when the man doesn’t suddenly strike out, lets it come closer. 

The man gently cups a hand under the back of Peter’s head, only lifting it high enough for Peter to drink out of the coconut shell. The stabbing in Peter’s head only gets stronger and his neck hurts but Peter’s too thirsty to care. He slurps loudly at the sweet coconut water, whimpering when it runs out, but the man quickly replaces it with another half coconut shell, resting it gently against Peter’s lips. 

Peter drinks it too and then lets out a relieved sound as the man lowers his head back down. His throat is no longer bone dry and his tongue doesn’t feel as swollen, and when the man reaches out to brush away the liquid that spilled over Peter’s chin, Peter doesn’t flinch away.

“Thank you,” Peter says, his voice still weak and reedy. 

The man chirps a wordless reply, smiling. Peter manages a small smile in reply, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He fades away quickly, exhaustion weighing him down, and the last thing he’s aware of is something soft being drawn over him.

~~~

This time when Peter wakes again, it’s dark. Cave worms are littered across the rocky walls like softly glowing stars in the night sky, and warm, orange light filters in from the cave mouth, flickering across the sand.

If it’s possible, Peter hurts even more. But on the brighter side he feels stronger, his limbs no longer resembling limp, overcooked noodles.

He manages to struggle weakly up onto his forearms, panting with the effort. A worn blanket falls to his waist. There’s a small fire burning outside of the cave, the man from before crouched down next to it. The smell of cooking fish reaches Peter’s nose and his stomach rumbles. 

The man looks up and sees Peter awake. A wide grin stretches across his scarred face and he stands, walking into the cave, having to duck under the low ceiling. 

“Hi again,” Peter rasps, his arms finally giving out. He collapses back into the sand, gasping, and the man makes another one of his strange, wordless noises. Once again he cups a gentle palm under the back of Peter’s head, lifting his head up he can feed Peter small morsels of fish, tearing the white flesh from the cooked fish laying in a banana leaf sitting on his thigh. 

Peter manages a couple bites before he starts feeling sick. He’s so hungry, and he knows he needs food to heal, so he powers through most of the fish until his stomach rolls and he can’t anymore. He turns his face away from the next offering.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “can’t.”

The man makes a small, worried noise, but lays Peter’s head gently back into the sand. Peter smiles weakly up at him, blinking tiredly. He wants to stay awake but he’s just so exhausted. 

“Thanks for the food,” he says, and his eyes slip closed.

~~~

It’s daytime when Peter wakes up. He blinks up the rock ceiling, taking stock of the various aches and pains of his body.

_ Not so bad, _ he thinks, and then carefully tries to roll over onto his side. It hurts, but Peter doesn’t feel like he’s going to faint dead away as he slowly props his upper body up on his arms. They tremble, but hold. 

There’s a reason why he hurts so much. Peter looks down at his body, eyes wide. He’s covered from head to toe in healing bruises, burns and cuts, the tattered remains of his spidey suit clinging to his lower body, ripped away at the calves. The worst of his wounds are covered in makeshift leaf bandages, held in place by thin, flexible vines. Peter leaves those alone, instead feeling over his ribs and right thigh, where the pain is most concentrated. They’re hot and swollen, and when he applies pressure, hissing and sweating with the pain, the bones protest but don’t move. They’re not broken, but probably bruised and possibly fractured, judging from the amount of tissue trauma. Peter’s amazed that he’s not worse off since he fell out of the sky and hit the water at terminal velocity. Without his spidey powers, he would be dead. Even so, it’s a miracle that he didn’t drown.

There’s no sign of his web-shooters, and his mask is gone. “Shit,” Peter says to himself. He looks around the small cave just in case they’re somewhere near, but the only things he finds are a rag next to him and another half shell full of coconut water.

He drinks the coconut water, licking his lips clean of the sweetness, and then picks up the large rag curiously. 

It looks like an old, worn and stained hospital gown. There’s a name tag sewn into the neckline; Peter can just make out the letters.

“Wade W,” he says to himself, rubbing a thumb over the faded name. It must’ve been what had been covering him before. Humming, he lets it drop back into the sand and takes a deep breath. 

“Here we go.” He reaches over to the cave wall behind him and uses it to pull himself to his feet. It’s slow going and painful, every one of his joints yelling at him to stop, his ribs and thigh throbbing hotly with pain and his head spinning, but he manages, balancing on one leg as he pants and trembles, braced against the rock. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” he says. “Easy peasy.” He eyes the cave entrance, only a few meters away, and gathers himself. Using the cave wall to prop himself up, he limps over to it, sweating with the effort. 

But the view is worth it when he gets there. The cave opens up onto a beach, where small curious crabs skitter across the sand, running between colourful shells and picking over big driftwood. The sea stretches out forever, jewel blue and sparkling in the sun, bright fish darting underneath the surface as waves break gently against the shore. The air is fresh and hot and humid, smelling like greenery and ocean air, and Peter can hear the sound of bird song and the buzzing of insects. 

“Wow,” Peter says to himself. He lets go of the cave wall and limps a few more steps forward in the warm sand, turning around to take in the view of the dense jungle behind him. The trees are dizzyingly tall, stretching up towards a cloudless sky. They’re almost impossibly green and bursting with wildlife. He spots small, chittering monkeys swinging between the branches and vines, brightly coloured birds and strange winged insects amongst the leaves. 

Footsteps in the sand bring his attention back and he looks over his shoulder, seeing the man from before walking towards him, his expression bright on his heavily scarred face. Peter smiles tiredly at him and the man breaks out in a huge grin. He practically skips over to where Peter’s standing, laughing. 

“Woah,” Peter yelps, throwing his hands up, his balance precarious on one leg. He wavers and begins to fall, but the man makes a startled noise and catches him around the waist, steadying him.

“Thanks,” Peter says, using the man as a brace. He looks up, and up, blinking as he realizes that the man is  _ big.  _ Easily a head taller than Peter, and  _ built,  _ thick, hard muscle shifting under his scarred skin from where Peter’s touching him on his naked chest and shoulder. Peter’s face immediately flares red and he drops his hands, looking down in embarrassment and then squeaking when he’s reminded quite vividly that the man is  _ entirely _ naked.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, looking back up at the man’s face. He’s grinning, brown eyes sparkling as he waggles his eyebrows. Peter’s face goes even more red and he steps backwards, out of the man’s hold around his waist. The man’s hands had been so big they’d almost wrapped entirely around Peter’s middle. 

Peter clears his throat, stubbornly not looking down. “I’m Peter,” he says, “and I’m guessing you’re the one who saved me. I would’ve been fish food without you, so seriously, thank you.” 

The man cocks his head to the side and garbles something unintelligible. 

“...You can’t understand me, can you?” Peter says, slowly. 

The man cocks his head to the other side, blinking. He starts to say something, but only nonsense falls from his mouth, and he frowns, looking put out. He raps the side of his bald head with his knuckles, looking frustrated, and shrugs apologetically. 

“Well, that makes things a teeny bit more difficult,” Peter says. “You can’t tell me your name, or where I am.” He thinks for a second, back to the hospital gown. “I guess I’m just going to call you Wade, can’t keep calling you ‘the man’. Makes you sound kinda ominous.”

The man- Wade, now, just keeps looking at Peter, obviously not understanding his words or recognising the name. Peter sighs, looking around at his surroundings. It’s beautiful, but not what he needs. What he needs is a plane to get him back to New York, where the entire city is battling the newest invasion of flesh-eating aliens. Or a computer, or a phone, hell, even a fax machine, so he can get in touch with May and his friends and Mr Stark and make sure they’re alright, and to tell them that he’s fine as well, he’d just suffered a small case of falling out of the sky when a crazy alien from outer space had stowed away in the Avenjet and tried to rip his face off and eat it, and then caused so much damage to the Avenjet trying to continually eat Peter’s face off that the jet had broken apart mid flight and caused Peter’s unfortunate current situation.

Something tells him that he’s not going to be able to find a Stark phone hidden away in the jungle, however. Biting his lip, he shields his eyes from the sun, peering out over the ocean as far as he can see. Nope, nothing. No ships, no islands, nada. He looks both ways down the beach, but no civilisation is to be found within eyeline. The last time Peter had looked at the radar in the Avenjet it had shown that he was somewhere near the Pacific Islands, so Peter’s still hopeful that maybe there’s some kind of town near. 

Peter drops his hand and turns back to Wade, who’s still looking at him, grinning. Peter peers at him, unsure. The fact that there’s a fully naked man here who doesn’t seem to speak any kind of discernible language isn’t really doing much to keep Peter’s hopes up. 

But Peter’s someone who is used to positivity in the face of really bad odds. Some people like to call it denial, or blatant stupidity, but Peter just likes to call it ‘looking at things from a different point of view’. 

“Well, I’m not going to find out by just standing here,” he sighs to himself, and picks a direction to walk down the beach in. He limps a couple of meters, wincing with every step, until Wade comes up beside him and carefully wraps a big arm around him, helping him walk. 

It’s slow going, with Peter limping and whimpering in pain every now and then, but whenever Wade tries to get him to stop and rest, making worried, chattering noises, Peter shakes his head and keeps stubbornly pushing onwards. 

It takes hours, and Peter’s thoroughly exhausted and in pain by the end of it, but he and Wade end up exactly where they started.

Peter finally collapses down into the hot sand and puts his face in his hands. No sign of civilisation. Just empty ocean, and stretches of beautiful, golden sands giving way to dense jungle further inland. 

He’s so fucked.


	2. stranded

The problem is, now that Peter has stopped, he can’t get back up again. 

Walking a full loop around the island in such a poor state probably wasn’t his best and brightest idea, but Peter’s never claimed to have the strongest common sense. He does swing around New York City in a skin tight spandex suit fighting crime with only his fists, dumb jokes and the belief that he’s doing at least some good, after all.

Sitting next to him in the sand, Wade makes a low inquiring noise, poking Peter in the side. 

“Ow.” Peter turns his head to narrow his eyes at him. “Look, I would get up if I could, okay?”

Of course, not understanding a thing Peter says, Wade chirps and pokes him in the side again.

“Hey, dude, not cool,” Peter grumbles, flapping Wade’s hand away weakly. Wade pouts, the expression vaguely ridiculous on a man his size, and sits back in the sand, crossing his arms.

Peter squints at him, and when Wade doesn’t go to poke him again, lets his head fall back into the sand and closes his eyes. He feels dizzy and nauseated and lying out in the sun in hot sand isn’t doing him any favours, but Peter can’t move for the life of him. Everything hurts, pain layered on top of pain layered on top of exhaustion, topped off with a light sprinkling of burnt skin and wounds from an alien trying to shishkebab him. He’s not exactly motivated either; he has no clue what he’s going to do.

He’s stranded on a deserted island with a naked man who Peter can’t communicate with, he has no way of contacting his friends and family back in New York, who he’s not even sure are surviving the alien invasion, and he doesn’t even have his suit or his webs. He’s got  _ nothing.  _ Just his colossal bad luck and developing sunburn. That about sums it up. 

He puts his arm over his eyes to hide the fact that he’s crying. 

Sand shifts next to him and Peter moves his arm a bit, sniffing. Wade’s looking down at him, his expression worried. 

“Sorry,” Peter says, hiccuping. “This just- this just really  _ sucks.”  _

Wade makes a sad chattering noise, pauses with a thoughtful look on his face, and then grins. With a finger he boops Peter lightly on the nose, sound effect and all.

It’s so unexpected that it shocks Peter out of his tears. 

Wade’s grin widens and he puffs out his chest triumphantly. He looks so ridiculous that Peter can’t help but laugh at him, hiccuping. 

Wade blinks and looks at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping open a little as he watches Peter giggle. His cheeks flood pink.

“What?” Peter says, his laughter fading. “Do I have snot on my face?” He wipes at his nose weakly, but Wade makes a sound and gently pulls his hand away. 

Peter blinks up at him, and Wade stares down at him, eyes roaming over Peter’s face. Then Wade grins, and boops Peter on the nose again.

Peter laughs.

~~~

Wade ends up having to carry Peter off of the beach.

Peter grumbles as Wade scoops him up off the sand, and then whimpers when Wade accidentally jostles him. Wade freezes midway out of his crouch, making a panicked sound, but Peter takes a deep breath and smiles up at him. 

Wade smiles back, looking relieved, and resumes standing, carefully holding Peter up against his chest. But he doesn’t walk back towards the cave, instead heading into the jungle.

“Where are we going?” Peter asks, trying to keep his eyes open. He’s exhausted but curious, wanting to take in all of his surroundings as Wade carries him through the dense trees. The buzzing of insects and birdsong grows louder the further Wade carries him, the sound of the ocean fading quickly. Peter blinks tiredly up at the jungle canopy, so thick that almost no sunlight breaks through. Monkeys are playing up in the branches, little white faces peering down at them as they chitter and squawk. 

“Cute,” Peter mutters, smiling. 

Wade makes a face down at him, grumbling something, and keeps walking, ducking under low hanging vines and branches. The rhythm of his steps start to lull Peter into a state of drowsiness, and he has to fight himself awake when Wade comes to a stop. 

“Whaazit?” Peter says, blinking blearily. The chest under his ear vibrates with a chuckle and Peter blushes red, and then yelps as Wade carefully moves him into one arm, hugging Peter close to his side. Then he starts to climb the tree in front of them. 

Even one handed and with a human clinging to his side, Wade makes the climb look easy, corded muscles moving fluidly under his marred skin. Peter gapes at him for a second, and then directs his attention upwards, mouth falling open wider as a small wooden structure becomes visible through the branches and leaves.

“Woah,” Peter breathes. “You have a treehouse? That is  _ so cool.” _

Wade grins at his excited tone and heaves them up the last few branches and onto a rickety wooden ladder, climbing up through a hole in the floor. 

Peter forgets all about his exhaustion when he sees the interior of the treehut. Pretty shells and stones hang from the ceiling by thin vines, slowly spinning in the light breeze coming in through a big window facing east, the view looking out over the treetops towards the ocean. A huge pile of furs sits in the corner, and a low wooden table rests beside it, laden with bright fruits, green coconuts and strange looking root vegetables. The floor is covered with banana leaves, probably to soften the rough wood underneath and make it easier on the feet, and creeping vines run up the walls, covered with lush green leaves and small, bright yellow and pink flowers. 

Wade lowers Peter onto the bed of furs. Peter half expects them to be rough and itchy against his still healing skin, but they’re surprisingly soft and comfortable. He sighs happily, curling up in them, happy to be out of the sand and in something more resembling a bed. He’s got sand in places he would rather not think about from sleeping out in that cave. 

Wade makes a happy sound and hands Peter a mango from the table. Peter’s stomach immediately grumbles and he struggles to peel it, digging his fingers into the thick skin and making a mess of things, until Wade huffs a laugh and pulls it from his hands. 

“Don’t laugh,” Peter grumbles, and watches as Wade shows him how to rip the skin off with his teeth, peeling the fruit in seconds and handing it back to Peter. Peter devours it, gnawing at the seed inside and licking at his sticky fingers. Wade goes to give him another one, but Peter’s already nodding off where he sits, the seed slipping from his fingers. 

~~~

Peter feels a little more human the next day. The bruises have mostly faded, only the deepest over his thigh and ribs remaining as awful watercolour paintings of yellow, green and blue over his skin. Some cuts are still healing up and he still feels wrung out like an old dishrag, but he’s no longer exhausted to his bones. 

Wade’s gone from the hut when Peter wakes up, so Peter pokes around for a bit, curious. There’s nothing really to see other than what he’d observed yesterday, so after eating a few more mangoes off the table he tries to lower himself through the hole in the floor to climb down the ladder.

Only seconds in and he knows that he’s made a mistake. His ribs  _ scream  _ at him and his arms shake, but May has been known to say that Peter’s smarts are only outmatched by his stubbornness. He keeps going and ends up clinging to the ladder sweating and panting, blinking away tears of pain and frustration. Turns out only a couple days of healing isn't enough after you’ve gone head to head with a flesh-eating alien from outer space and also fallen out of the sky from thousands of feet in the air.

That’s where Wade finds him. The man tuts at him, swinging a bag made from banana leaves over his shoulder and carefully prying Peter off the ladder, holding him in one arm and bringing him back up into the tree hut again. He sits Peter back in the furs and makes a stern face at Peter, wagging his finger, and Peter gets a flashback to Mr Stark telling him to take a break every now and then and stop pushing himself too hard, the hypocrite. 

Peter just grins sheepishly and shrugs, hissing when the movement pulls at one of his cuts. Wade clicks his tongue and rummages through his bag held thankfully in his lap, hiding his junk from Peter’s prone-to-roam eyes. 

Wade pulls out leaves, the kind that currently cover up the worst of Peter’s wounds, and more vines. Then he carefully peels away the leaves on Peter’s skin, making pleased sounds at the rate of Peter’s healing, and cleans away any dirt and dried blood he can see by pouring water from a half shell of coconut over them. He covers them back up again with the new leaves, his fingers surprisingly gentle for their size. 

“Thank you,” Peter says when he’s finished, smiling and hoping his gratitude is coming across. “Really, thanks to you I’m not drying out on the beach like a piece of fruit leather.”

Wade cocks his head in that cute way of his, and while he doesn’t understand Peter’s words he obviously understands the expression on Peter’s face and the tone of his speech. He grins, dimples digging deep into his scarred cheeks, and Peter’s suddenly hit with the realisation that Wade is  _ handsome.  _ It doesn’t help that Wade picks up one of Peter’s hands in his big, warm hands and brushes a kiss over the back of it, brown eyes sparkling.

Peter goes bright red and snatches his hand back, butterflies suddenly deciding to make themselves at home in his stomach. There is  _ no way _ that he’s going to get a crush on a naked, wild man on a deserted island, no matter how hot he is.

He  _ is not.  _

~~~

There’s not really a lot to do while Peter heals up. He had it bad enough when he had the internet and Netflix whenever he had to recover from the latest big bad, but now that there’s not exactly a fibre connection here he’s bored out of his skull. 

He watches Wade putter around the hut, the man humming as he goes, his voice pleasantly deep and raspy. The tune isn’t any that Peter’s familiar with, but that doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not like he’s heard every song out there in the world, and Wade’s probably more than capable of coming up with his own melody. The thought makes him bite his lip, sitting up slowly from the furs. Wade is obviously intelligent and his voice works; he should be able to learn how to speak.

“Wade,” he says. The man perks up from across the hut and skips over happily towards him when Peter beckons. 

“I’m Peter,” Peter says slowly, tapping his chest. “Peter.”

Wade blinks at him. 

“Peter,” Peter repeats, pointing to himself.

Wade garbles something back at him.

Peter pursues his lips and then picks up a mango. “Mango,” he says, holding it up. “Mango,” he says, slower, hoping Wade will pick the sounds up. He hands the fruit to Wade, who accepts it tentatively. 

Wade blinks down at it, his mouth twisting unhappily. He slowly forms a sound with his mouth, forming over-exaggerated shapes, but all that comes out is a slur of unintelligible noise. Wade’s frown deepens and he tries again, Peter watching on hopefully, but the result is another sound that is nothing close to the word mango.

Peter plucks the fruit from his hands and replaces it with a smooth stone about the size of his fist from the table. It looks like Wade uses it to bash open coconuts.

“Rock,” he says, hoping that a one syllable word will be easier. 

Wade’s face hardens and he says something short and sharp. When he doesn’t sound anything like the word Peter just said he clenches his teeth and squeezes the rock in his hand. For a second all he does is sit there, staring over Peter’s shoulder, before he smashes the stone right into his forehead.

Peter’s heart almost stops. “No!” He yelps, diving forward to prevent Wade from hitting himself again. They tumble backwards, Peter snatching the rock from Wade and throwing it to the side, grabbing Wade’s face in his hands and hurriedly inspecting the damage.

Blood spills down over Wade’s face, a huge gash over his forehead. It’s deep enough that Peter can see bone. Peter’s face goes pale and he goes to cover the wound with his hands, hoping to slow the bleeding, but then something strange happens. The edges of the cut start to move. He freezes, gaping, as the skin seals back together within seconds. All that is left as evidence that there was ever a deep wound over Wade’s forehead is a new pink scar and the blood on Wade’s skin.

“Holy shit,” Peter says, smearing away some of the blood to get a clearer look. Even the pink scar is fading into the rest of Wade’s normal ones. “That’s- that’s amazing.”

Wade blinks up at him and Peter sits up straighter from his crouch over Wade, not really registering that he’s perched on top of Wade’s chest. “That’s a serious healing factor,” Peter mutters to himself, “but then why are you covered in scars? Shouldn’t they be healed as well? Unless they’re part of your mutation, or maybe because you had them before you mutated and your healing factor really is just a reset button, always healing you back towards your original state? Then you could have been here for  _ ages  _ because then technically you wouldn’t age. But then again that hospital gown looked fairly modern so you couldn’t have been here  _ that  _ long.”

He hums thoughtfully, pondering, until he finally realises that the warmth on his sides are Wade’s hands on his bare skin, his thumbs stroking slowly over Peter’s hip bones. Yelping, he tumbles off the side of the man, groaning as his body hits the floor. 

Wade leans over him, making a worried noise.

“Sorry,” Peter gasps, holding his ribs. “I didn’t realise I was  _ sitting  _ on you. Yikes, that’s a little embarrassing.” 

Wade chatters his normal unintelligible speech and scoops Peter up, laying him back down into the furs. Sighing, Peter resigns himself to more rest, curling up around his sore middle and closing his eyes.

~~~

The tattered remains of Peter’s Spidey suit start to itch. It doesn’t matter that they’re Stark tech and state of the art, they’re full of sweat and blood and sea water and they also kind of stink. Not to mention that Peter’s sweaty and his hair is caked with blood and he has sand in unmentionable places and overall he is just  _ really  _ not clean. When Peter can finally make it down from the tree hut without further incident the first thing he asks Wade is where can he clean himself. 

“Water?” Peter asks, miming washing himself as he and Wade stand at the roots of the tree that houses Wade’s hut. “Somewhere I can take a bath?” Somewhere that hopefully isn’t the ocean. Peter doesn’t particularly want to be in the sea for a while. 

Understanding dawns over Wade’s face and he smiles, chirping happily. He takes Peter’s hand in his and leads him through the jungle on a well worn path.

As they walk the sounds of moving water slowly starts to filter through the trees. They come out into a clearing where a small waterfall rushes over a sheer, rocky cliff across from them. The falling water sends up a fine mist, the droplets catching the sun and turning the surrounding air into a bright, sheer rainbow. It falls into a wide, deep pool, the dark rocks of the bottom clearly seen through the clear water. Low hanging branches and vines trail into it, fallen flowers and leaves floating along the surface. A stream runs off of it to the side, winding its way through the dense, green foliage and out of sight.

Monkeys play at the edge of the water. Wade runs towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs, almost causing Peter to have a heart attack. The monkeys immediately scatter, shrieking as they leap for the trees, and Wade is left standing alone on the flat rocks surrounding the pool, grinning proudly.

Peter shakes his head, smiling. “You’re nuts,” he says, and watches as Wade dives head first into the water, yelling happily.

Peter follows at a much more sedate pace. He makes sure Wade isn’t looking first before he carefully peels his lower half out of the ruins of suit, making a face as it sticks to his skin. Then he steps into the water, making a happy sound at the cool temperature. The island is  _ hot.  _

Wade’s happily splashing around at the base of the waterfall, diving after little bright fish swimming beneath them, so Peter sets to scrubbing himself clean. There’s no soap or washcloth but he manages pretty well, rubbing at his scalp with his fingertips and making a face at the amount of dirt that comes off of him. Then he does his best to clean his suit, sighing unhappily when he realises that it’s a lost cause. There’s no saving the mess of what’s left.

He’s mourning it when he realises that Wade’s been pretty quiet the past few minutes. He looks up just in time to see the man pop up in front of him, cheeks bulging. A second later and he squirts a mouthful of water right into Peter’s face.

Peter’s jaw drops and Wade laughs loudly, dimples deep in either cheek.

“That was uncalled for,” Peter yelps. He retaliates with a splash of water in Wade’s direction, but Wade ducks under and comes up with another mouthful of water that he squirts at Peter, and the war is on.

It ends with Wade chasing Peter out of the pool, Peter laughing and pleading for mercy. Wade lets up, grinning triumphantly as he treads water, and Peter rolls his eyes, sitting down on a warm rock to dry off. He covers himself with his spidey suit and looks sadly down at it, wondering what he’s going to do for clothing. There’s no way that he’s going to go Wade style and let everything just hang out there for the world to see. That said, he also needs to figure out what he’s going to cover Wade with. The man is entirely too distracting naked. 

As if hearing Peter’s thoughts Wade levers himself out of the pool with muscle heavy arms, water rushing down over the strong, sculpted lines of his body. Peter looks away, determined not to blush.

Wade plops himself down next to Peter, shaking himself off like a dog. 

“Hey!” Peter laughs, covering his face with his arm from the flying droplets. Wade just grins at him, making a cheerful sound in the back of his throat. Then he looks up a bit at Peter’s hair, gone messy and fluffy as it dried.

Peter hurriedly tries to smooth it back down, but Wade laughs and pulls his hand away, capturing an errant brown curl in his fingers and tugging lightly at it, looking delighted. 

Peter bats Wade’s hand away, redness creeping over his cheeks. “It’s a bird’s nest, I know,” Peter grumbles. Wade pouts and leans back on his hands, looking Peter over. His eyes go dark and he makes a low, appreciative sound, licking his lips.

Peter stands up, the light flush on his face now full blown, holding his suit over himself. Wade whistles as he walks away and Peter covers his face with a hand, his pulse wild. 

_ Nope, _ Peter thinks,  _ you will not sleep with the hot, naked man who can’t speak because that is a  _ bad thing,  _ Parker, he’s only coming onto you because he probably hasn’t seen another human being in years and he’s vulnerable and you will  _ not _ take advantage of that, you hear me?! You shouldn’t even be thinking about that! You should be thinking about how you’re going to get off this damn island in the first place and back to New York because last time you checked there was an alien invasion going on! _

“Fuck,” Peter mutters to himself. “Fuck.”

~~~

Wade finds him later, sitting on the beach looking out over the horizon. Wade sits down next to him in the sand, a quiet noise sounding from his throat.

“This  _ sucks,” _ Peter says, throwing a shell out into the water. He’s collected a little pile of them next to himself. “The Avenjet would’ve sent out a distress signal when it went down. Mr Stark should’ve found me by now.”

He throws another shell. “But he hasn’t. And that means one of two things. One, that the alien invasion has gotten worse and he’s too busy to come get me. Or two.” He throws another shell, further this time, watching it soar over the water and plop down. “He hasn’t come and gotten me because the alien invasion  _ has  _ gotten worse and he’s  _ dead.” _

He takes a deep, shaky breath. Wade lays a hand on his shoulder, making a sad sound. Peter bites his lip and throws another shell.

“I could try make a raft and get off this stupid island, but there’s no guarantee that I would make it anywhere and I can’t just  _ leave  _ you here. I can’t take you with me because I can’t risk you dying either. So, basically, I’m  _ stuck.”  _

He throws a whole handful of shells. “I’m fucking  _ stuck.”  _


	3. bloom

The first thing Peter thinks of that could serve as clothes is the hospital gown from the cave. But Wade refuses to wear it, and to be fair it isn’t in much better condition than Peter’s ruined Spidey suit. 

So Peter goes with Plan B; leaf skirts. 

Wade  _ loves  _ his. As soon as Peter ties it around his waist he’s happily cooing, strutting around and sashaying his hips, sending the leaves swirling around his thighs. Peter’s a little less flamboyant with his, but he’s pretty happy with how they turned out. He’s also pleased about the fact that he no longer accidentally gets an eyeful of Wade’s junk, because even though Peter is  _ not  _ averse to the sight of it, it’s really, really distracting, and it would be a bit embarrassing if Wade caught him staring.

Clothing problem sorted, Peter decides to explore his temporary home. He’s walked the perimeter of the island, but he has no idea what else there is hiding away in the jungle. There’s also the small question of  _ how  _ Wade got here, because Peter hasn’t been able to find any clues in the tree hut at all. Maybe there’s something to be found in the dense jungle of the island. 

He’s healed enough now that he can take to the trees. The first leap he takes up into the branches feels amazing; finally being able to stretch out his muscles is  _ awesome.  _ He swings up to the very top of the tree, perching up on the highest branch and peering out over the island. 

A sad call makes him look down through the leaves. Wade is a small figure below, staring up at him from the lower branches. The man looks positively morose, climbing up at a much slower pace than Peter, obviously not able to swing up like Peter did. 

Peter jumps quickly down to him, landing lightly next to Wade on a wide branch. The man makes a delighted sound, and then an even happier one when Peter crouches and gestures for him to climb up onto his back. 

Wade clambers on and Peter makes a face as his ribs twinge at Wade’s weight, but it’s not too bad and he straightens up, hitching Wade higher up on his back. The man clutches him around the shoulders, his legs wrapped around Peter’s waist, his breath warm in Peter’s ear. Peter tells himself very sternly to ignore how closely Wade is pressed up against him and looks up.

“Hold on to your hat,” he warns, and then he’s off. 

Wade whoops loudly as Peter jumps up through the branches at a whirlwind pace. Peter grins as he gets to the top of the tree, looks around quickly, and picks a direction to head in.

It turns out that most of the jungle is just that, jungle. Dense and hot and full of creepy crawlies and exotic plants. Peter covers the island in a grid pattern, and every now and then Wade taps him on the shoulder and points him in a certain direction. There’s a cool rock formation he explores for a bit, a few more pools of water but no more waterfalls, and a massive tree in the centre of the island that is the tallest and possibly the oldest of them all, towering up above the rest, swaying and creaking in the breeze.

They sit up in it for lunch, munching on mangos and small sweet berries and edible roots that Wade digs up for them, looking out over the view. It really is a beautiful place, Peter thinks to himself as he licks his fingers clean. Untouched. 

Lunch done, he hitches Wade on to his back again and heads into the last bit of the island left unexplored. 

As soon as it becomes apparent where Peter’s heading, however, Wade makes a low, unhappy noise and squeezes his legs around Peter’s hips.

Peter pauses on a branch, letting Wade off of his back. “What’s wrong?” He asks, looking to the section of trees that Wade doesn’t seem comfortable letting him go into. It doesn’t look any different than the rest of the jungle.

Wade shifts unhappily where he stands, tugging on Peter’s wrist to get him to go back the way they came. He whines low in his throat, his lips pressed tightly together. There’s something in his eyes that makes Peter pause as he goes to brush the man off. Something almost frightened. 

Peter frowns at him, worried. He doesn’t want to make Wade more distressed. “Okay, it’s cool, we can head back.”

At his tone Wade relaxes, even though the line of his shoulders is still stiff. Peter lets him climb onto his back again and turns around, looking over his shoulder for a second.

Something glints through the leaves, reflecting light. Peter hesitates, curious, but Wade squeezes him, whining, so Peter ignores it and leaps forward.

He can always come back.

~~~

The rest of the day Wade is slightly  _ off.  _ It’s not like Peter’s been around him long enough to know that the man’s behaviour isn’t normal for him, but there’s something strange lurking behind his eyes, and his smile isn’t as bright.

It has to be something to do with the part of the jungle that Wade hadn’t wanted him in, but it’s not like Peter can ask him why, exactly. So the day continues on. 

Wade catches some fish for dinner with a long wooden spear, and they make a fire out on the beach, letting it burn down to embers before placing a flat rock in them and cooking the fish on it. 

It’s only been a couple days, but Peter’s already missing New York food. The fruit here is delicious, but Peter doesn’t go this long without eating pizza or a hotdog or drinking twice his own weight in coffee. He’s even missing May’s overcooked pasta and under salted tomato sauce, with just the right amount of cheese.

He sighs thinking about it, tearing apart the last little bit of fish on his banana leaf plate. Wade makes an enquiring noise next to him, already three fish down and counting, and Peter gives him a weak smile so he doesn’t worry. 

Wade blinks at him for a second and then gets up. Peter watches him walk into the jungle, wondering where he’s going, before shrugging and going back to tearing apart his fish. 

Before long Wade comes back, hiding something behind his back. He plops himself down to Peter, grinning, and presents what he’s found.

“Oh,” Peter says at the gorgeous bright red bloom sitting in the cradle of Wade’s palms. It’s beautiful, its petals curved and plump and spotted with gold. “For me?” He points to himself.

Wade nods, but when Peter reaches for it he lifts it out of Peter’s range, grinning.

“Hey,” Peter pouts, and Wade laughs, lowering his arms. He tucks the flower behind Peter’s ear, fingers lingering over the curve of his lobe and making Peter shiver. Wade makes a pleased noise, smiling.

Peter’s face heats and he looks away, unsure of how to react. “Thanks,” he says, touching the smooth petals next to his cheek. No one’s ever given him a flower before. The gesture is sweet, and makes something in his stomach curl up happily. His last mouthful of fish somehow tastes better.

Wade chirps something bright and goes back to his own food.

~~~

Something’s confusing Peter about Wade. Well, more than one thing, like where did the man come from and why is he covered in scars? But the big thing that’s really bugging Peter is the fact that Wade’s obviously intelligent, he can make sound, and he understands normal human cues with body language and expression, but he just  _ can’t  _ seem to understand Peter or learn how to speak, no matter how hard they both try.

They’re sitting under a tree on the edge of the beach, watching the sun set in a spectacle of oranges and purples and pinks. Peter takes another sip of his coconut and hands it over to Wade. The man makes a thankful noise, drinking the rest of it before throwing the empty shell over his shoulder.

Peter shakes his head, grinning. “Litterbug.”

Wade blinks at him, cocking his head. Peter’s smile fades, and he sighs. He puts his chin in his hand, leaning his elbow on his knee. Wade doesn’t understand Peter when he speaks, but he does seem to understand facial expressions and gestures, and reacts when the tone of Peter’s voice changes. Peter hums thoughtfully, wondering if Wade will comprehend pictographs. Well, there’s no harm in trying. 

He draws a stick figure in the sand with a finger, giving it big arms and a bald head, and then points to Wade. “This is you,” he says, pointing back at the stick figure and then back up to Wade.

Wade looks down at it, smiling brightly. Peter watches as he draws a stick figure next to the one Peter drew, the lines better rendered than Peter’s. The head of the drawing in the sand comes up to stick figure-Wade’s shoulder, and has a full head of wavy hair. Wade points at it and then up to Peter.

“That’s me,” Peter says, delighted. 

Wade hums, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Peter. Then he amends the stick figure in the sand, giving it a big butt.

“Hey!” Peter yelps as Wade laughs. “My ass is  _ not  _ that big, thank you very much.” He wipes away the addition, huffing, as Wade whines but doesn’t stop him.

“Okay.” Peter breathes out, frowning down at the stick figures, wondering how he’s going to do this. He draws an oval in the sand, a simple tree with a tree hut in it, and wavy lines around it, hoping that his awful drawing skills are at least good enough to communicate what he’s trying to draw. “This is the island.” He gestures around them.

Wade doesn’t look lost, so he keeps going. Peter chews at his bottom lip and then draws an arrow pointing from stick figure-Wade to the island, and then adds a question mark over the line. He looks up at Wade, who’s frowning.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Peter mutters, wiping away the question mark. Instead he points at stick figure-Wade, then to the island, and then makes an exaggerated questioning noise, trying to look confused.

Wade looks blankly at him. Peter tries again, his shoulders falling when Wade doesn’t seem to understand him again. He seems to be able to comprehend that drawings represent something, but is unable to connect the two conceptually. It’s weird. Or maybe Peter is just really bad at this.

“Okay, how about this.” He draws two figures either side of Wade, one that’s obviously a woman and one that’s obviously a man, bigger than stick figure-Wade and holding his hand. “Did you know your parents?”

Wade squints down at the picture of a family, blinking. He looks confused. 

Peter points at the female figure and then gestures holding a baby to his chest, rocking his arms. “Your mother?”

Wade still looks blank. Peter tries to think up a way to mime the concept of a father, but Wade just looks more and more confused as Peter tries to act playing baseball, or wearing a suit and tie. Peter tries drawing a house around the stick figures, but it seems to make Wade even more befuddled.

Peter tries to draw a dog, and then barks, panting his tongue out like one, and Wade just looks at him like he’s nuts. “Dude, there is no way you don’t know what a dog is. Everyone knows what a dog looks and sounds like.” 

Next, he draws a bird. Wade’s seen birds, there’s heaps of them on the island. But looking down at it, Wade starts to look frustrated, his hands bunching to fists on his muscled thighs. 

Peter tries to act out what a bird would do, just in case his drawing is abysmal, even though he’s pretty sure it’s obviously a bird. He makes whistling sounds and flaps his arms, but Wade just keeps frowning.

Peter’s shoulders fall and he looks helplessly at the man. “It’s a bird.” He points up at one of them sitting on a branch at the edge of the jungle, its feathers a beautiful bright blue. That’s when comprehension dawns on Wade’s face.

Next, Peter draws a crab, starting to get an inkling of what’s happening. Just like before, Wade doesn’t understand what it is. But as soon as Peter points one out, he brightens up, looking between the drawing at the actual thing, making the connection. 

“Okay, either I can’t draw or act for shit, which is probably true, or you can’t make connections between a representation of something and the actual thing unless you can  _ see  _ the actual thing.” Peter frowns. It doesn’t make any sense. Because Wade  _ is _ intelligent and he’s not at a child’s level of maturity either, and he communicates well with facial expression and gestures. It’s like something is blocking his brain from him being able to understand more abstract ideas that are required for complex communication. 

“Brain damage?” Peter mutters. It’s very specific brain damage if it is; Wade doesn’t seem in any other way unable to function, and he hasn’t had seizures or anything. But Peter’s no neurosurgeon, and he knows that the human brain is scarily complex. Maybe whatever gave him his scars affected his brain in some strange way?

He reaches out and takes Wade’s clenched fist in his hand, uncurling the scarred fingers and patting the back of Wade’s hand. Wade stares down at it, looking put out, his other hand pressed up against the side of his head. He doesn’t hit himself, he just holds it there, putting pressure on his skull. His expression has an edge of pain to it. 

Peter bites his lip and wipes the lines from the sand. He doesn’t want to hurt the man. “Let’s try again another day,” he says, standing up and pulling Wade with him. “The sun’s almost gone.”

~~~

Something wakes Peter up that night.

He opens his eyes in the dark, holding his body still. The moonlight streams in through the window in the wall, illuminating everything in a cool, white light. 

The normal sounds of the jungle are all he can hear. Nocturnal animals screeching and insects buzzing and the rustling of leaves. It’s nothing like the sounds of New York at night, no sirens and beeping of cars and the low drone of the tv from his next door neighbour that he’s used to, but it isn’t something that should’ve woken Peter up.

Yawning, he closes his eyes again, snuggling down into the furs. Next to him Wade shifts and makes a low, drawn out sound.

The hair on Peter’s neck stands up. “Wade?” He asks quietly, propping himself up on his elbows. Wade’s face is screwed up, his scars deep and twisted and thrown into sharp relief by the moonlight. A sheen of sweat covers him, his limbs twitching and fists curling and uncurling as he sleeps.

Another noise, this time louder, and scared. 

“Wade, wake up,” Peter says, heart beginning to race. 

But Wade doesn’t hear him. His face moulds into an expression of terror and he starts thrashing where he lies, limbs going everywhere, a horrible, low grating noise making its way out of his throat. 

“Shit, Wade, wake up!” Peter reaches out for him, but as soon as his fingers make contact with Wade’s clammy skin, the man’s eyes fly open. Within a second he’s on Peter, hands wrapped tight around his neck, eyes wide and bloodshot red and unseeing. His breath hisses through his bared teeth, a menacing growl vibrating through his chest as his grip tightens like a vice around Peter’s throat.

Peter chokes, but only lays his hands over Wade’s wrists, trying not to scare the man even more. “Wade,” he manages to wheeze, “it’s just me. You’re safe.”

His vision begins to spot, and for a moment Peter doesn’t think Wade’s going to come to and he’s going to have to throw the man off, but suddenly Wade blinks and he’s aware. He stares down at Peter in shock, big chest heaving, before he scrambles off of him, looking horrified.

Peter sits up, gasping and coughing, feeling over his throat. “That’s going to bruise,” he croaks, swallowing painfully. He blinks away the wetness gathered on his lashes. 

Wade kneels next to him, eyes huge and guilty as he stares at the rapidly darkening red marks over Peter’s neck. He groans, low and pained, and then tries to slam a fist into the side of his own head.

Peter yelps and grabs him before he can. “No! No, don’t do that.” He holds onto Wade’s wrist as Wade struggles against him, but Peter’s stronger and he gives up, huffing out a frustrated breath. Tears blur in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Peter says. “Nightmares suck, huh?” He knows exactly how much they do. 

Wade’s shoulders begin to shake and Peter’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Oh, Wade,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around the man. Wade freezes and for a second Peter’s scared that Wade doesn’t want a hug, but then Wade groans and heaves Peter closer into his lap, burying his face into Peter’s shoulder. 

Tears leak over Peter’s skin and he slowly strokes Wade’s back, hushing him quietly. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “you’re fine. I’ve got you.” He wonders how many nights like this Wade has gone through alone. He knows by experience how much that is  _ not  _ fun, and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

Slowly, Peter coaxes Wade back down into the furs. The man refuses to let go of him as they move, squeezing Peter’s smaller body to his, huffing sobs into his skin. 

“It’s okay,” Peter murmurs, “I’m here.” He stays awake until Wade’s quiet sniffling fades into steady breathing, and only then does he allow his own eyes to close.

~~~

Peter’s neck is ringed with the dark imprints of Wade’s hands in the morning. He looks at his reflection in the pool at the waterfall, sighing as he pokes at it. Just when he’d fully healed as well. 

Thankfully, they’re not that bad. The bruises will heal within the day. 

Wade looks like he’s killed someone, though. He hovers over Peter in some moments, and in others keeps his distance, looking like he doesn’t trust himself. He’s in one of those moments now, leaned up against a tree at the edge of the clearing, eyebrows drawn together as he stares at Peter’s neck. 

Peter looks over at him and smiles. “Hey, I’m fine,” he says, poking at his neck. “See? It takes a little more than some light strangulation to keep me down.”

Wade’s eyebrows draw further together. He stares for a longer second and then spins on his heel, disappearing back into the jungle. 

Peter sighs. 

~~~

He finds Wade later sitting on the beach in the sun, angrily sharpening a stick with the edge of a shell. 

“Hey,” Peter says, sitting down next to him. Wade glances at him and then back to his stick, the lines of his shoulders tense. “Hey,” Peter says again, nudging his shoulder up against Wade’s side.

Wade looks at him again, his lips pressed tightly together. Peter smiles at him and moves his hands out from behind his back, presenting a large pink flower cupped in his palms.

Wade makes an unsure sound in his throat. 

“Seriously, you don’t need to feel bad, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” Peter says, even though he knows that Wade can’t understand him. He’s just hoping that Wade will begin to pick up words if he keeps speaking. “Here, it’s for you.”

He holds the flower out, expression encouraging. Wade looks down at it, back up to Peter’s face, and then back down to it. Tentatively, he reaches for it.

At the last second Peter pulls the flower out of Wade’s reach, grinning cheekily. Wade stares at him, blinking, and then huffs, a small smile on his lips. Peter laughs a little and tucks the flower behind Wade’s ear. “There. That’s better.”

Wade’s looking at him, something in his gaze. Peter’s stomach flips and he looks away, rubbing the back of his head. “We’re good, now?” He asks, cheeks warm.

A big hand wraps around his ankle, Wade’s grip gentle but firm. Wade rumbles a low, happy noise, and Peter smiles at him from under his lashes. 

Yeah, they’re good.


	4. falter

Peter, of course, burns easily. But his healing factor quickly fades the sunburn into an even, golden tan, his freckles darkening over his nose and cheeks and dusting over his shoulders. His hair lightens up a bit, the sun bleaching it from a deep brown to a lighter chocolate, copper streaking through the strands and catching the light every now and then. 

But while the sun is mostly kind to Peter, it is _not_ to Wade. 

A few too many hours spent in the sun and Wade is miserable, his scars angry and dry over his shoulders and back, skin cracking over his lips. He retreats to the waterfall, sitting under it, letting the cool water soothe his skin, looking so unhappy that it makes Peter’s chest hurt. His healing factor for some reason doesn’t seem to realise that dry skin is something that needs mending.

“Come on out from there,” Peter says after a while, trying to coax Wade out. “It’ll make you feel better now, but it’s just gonna end up drying you out more.”

Wade stares at him, frowning, but lets Peter pull him out from under the waterfall and up onto the smooth rocks surrounding the edge of the pool, making unhappy noises as his skin immediately starts to dry out. 

Peter shushes him, showing him an aloe leaf from a plant he’d spied before. “This’ll help, I swear.” He breaks the thick leaf in his hand, thick, gooey gel oozing out over his palms. “Sit down,” he says, gesturing Wade to sit.

Wade eyes the leaf in Peter’s hands with trepidation, but sits down anyway. Peter smiles at him and starts to smear the goo over Wade’s wide shoulders, absolutely _not_ noticing the huge muscles under Wade’s scarred and irritated skin, and how they shift under his hands as Wade fidgets. 

Wade makes a surprised sound, and then a low, pleased one, shoulders relaxing.

“Told you,” Peter says, kneeling down behind him. He spreads the aloe over the expanse of Wade’s back, also _completely_ not noticing the fact that even with his two hands spread as wide as they go, they don’t even come close to spanning the width of Wade’s waist, the man is so big. 

He moves up over the back of Wade’s neck, blushing when Wade moans happily, and then over Wade’s bald head, fingers carefully following the swirls and grooves of Wade’s scars. When he gets to Wade’s forehead he stops, moving to kneel next to the man, hoping that his tan hides the flush over his cheeks.

“Here,” he says, holding out the leaf. “Um, I guess you can do the rest?”

Wade looks down at it, and then up at Peter, eyes considering. He reaches for the leaf, but instead of grabbing it his fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist. Peter yelps as he’s tugged forward.

He tumbles into Wade’s lap, face bright red. “Hey!” He splutters, trying to climb off, but an arm clamps around his middle like steel, and Wade rumbles at him, brown eyes sparkling as he grabs Peter’s chin, tipping his face up to inspect.

Peter goes very, very still. His heartbeat picks up and the aloe slips from his fingers.

Wade stares at him, eyes trailing over Peter’s face and lingering on his lips. Peter’s stomach does a crazy backflip and he remains frozen, eyes wide. 

Wade makes a low questioning sound, thumb bumping against Peter’s lower lip. Peter swallows, the sound audible over the rushing of the waterfall. His eyes grow wider as Wade leans forward and carefully presses his mouth against Peter’s.

Peter’s mind goes completely blank. A small sound squeaks out of his throat and Wade chuckles against his lips. And then Wade is cradling the back of his head, fingers burying into the curls of his hair, and he’s kissing Peter properly.

It’s hot and wet and so good that it makes Peter dizzy. He keens helplessly into Wade’s mouth, pressing back, tongue moving alongside Wade’s, his hands clinging desperately to Wade’s shoulders. It’s been so long since Peter has been kissed, and Wade is impossibly good at it, mouth demanding and teeth nipping and hands firm, stealing all of Peter’s breath from his lungs. 

They part and Peter pants for air, eyes dazed and cheeks flushed. Wade grins at him, licking his lips, and tips Peter over onto his back, leaning down over him. He kisses Peter again and again, mouth greedy and unrelenting, until Peter’s a trembling, breathless mess underneath him, keening and whimpering as Wade sucks at his tongue. 

Wade finally lets Peter catch his breath, kissing down over his chin and down to his neck. Peter tips his head back, moaning, but now that Wade’s mouth isn’t chasing every coherent thought from his brain the implications of what they're doing hit him full force. 

“Wait, Wade, stop,” Peter gasps, pushing against Wade’s chest. When the man doesn’t stop sucking at his skin, threatening to make Peter’s thoughts cloud over again, Peter puts more strength behind the push, scrambling out from under Wade’s body and up onto his feet.

Wade makes a confused sound, sitting up on his knees, reaching out for Peter. But Peter dances out of his reach, hand over his neck, where the lovebite that Wade sucked into his skin throbs. 

“Oh no,” Peter says, turns on his heel, and flees.

~~~

The bird sitting next to Peter serenely ignores him, preening its feathers with a bright yellow beak. Peter watches it for a while, before turning to face back towards the ocean, curling an arm around his knee, his heel braced against the branch under him. The tall tree he’s sitting in sways lightly in the breeze, leaves rustling and branches creaking. 

He’s been trying very hard not to think about what could be happening in New York and the rest of the world for the past few days. It’s not worth thinking about when Peter can’t do anything about it (which is _endlessly frustrating),_ but he _cannot_ be making out with someone while his friends and family could be getting eaten alive an ocean away. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have anything else to do while waiting for rescue, or that Wade seems eager and Peter _likes_ him. He _cannot._

What makes it even worse is that Wade is vulnerable, and Peter shouldn't be doing that with him anyway. Wade’s obviously lonely and any human being would be starved for contact if they’d been here as long as Peter suspects him to have been. Peter can’t take advantage of the fact that he’s the first thing on two legs that Wade has seen in years, aside from the monkeys.

“You’re an asshole,” Peter says to himself. The bird next to him gives him a nasty look and then takes off, blue wings catching the wind as it swoops away. Peter sighs and goes to touch the bruise on his throat again, stopping himself at the last second.

“Nope,” he says, “self control, Parker, get some.”

~~~

When Peter finds Wade again, the man is happily weaving a flower crown together on the beach. His skin already looks better. He sees Peter approaching and his face brightens, jumping up to his feet and skipping over to him.

He doesn’t seem the least put out that Peter just ran off on him after their kiss. Peter eyes him, a little unsure, but Wade just garbles something happy at him and plonks the flower crown onto his head.

Peter laughs, feeling over the lopsided crown. “Thanks,” he says, relaxing when Wade doesn’t reach for him or try anything else. Maybe Peter doesn’t have to struggle to explain that there’s not to be any kissing between them. Maybe Wade’s got it out of his system? Maybe everything’s okay and things will go on like normal?

Wade grins brightly down at him and adjusts the crown on Peter’s head, tugging at a bit of his hair teasingly. Peter flushes and bats his hand away, but Wade just laughs and skips away. Peter smiles and shakes his head, following after him and managing to catch the bigger man. Together they sit down in the sand, watching the birds fly in circles above the surf.

~~~

Peter’s so warm and comfortable. There’s a body at his back, firm and radiating heat. Peter murmurs happily and rolls over, snuggling closer, breathing in the scent of the man next to him. Birds are chirping and insects are buzzing, and he can feel the warmth of the morning sun slowly creeping up his legs.

The chest under his cheek moves with a chuckle. Peter grumbles, wriggling unhappily as his pillow shifts. A hand cups the back of his head and Peter sighs, pressing back into the touch, almost purring as fingers scratch pleasantly over his scalp. 

Something low and raspy is whispered into his ear, but Peter’s too sleepy to make sense of it. He makes a sound as he’s slowly rolled over onto his back, stretching languidly under the body that covers his. Slow, warm mornings with a lover are the _best._

He curls his arms around wide shoulders, spreading his legs so the man can fit more comfortably between them. A hand brushes over his cheek and Peter tilts his head into it, smiling. Another low, husky sound, and lips are pressed to his. 

Peter hums, opening his mouth and letting his tongue slide hot and slick against his lover’s. A touch over his chest and he arches into it, his own hands running over the scarred skin of his lover’s back.

_Wait._

Peter manages to lift his heavy eyelids as the mouth covering his pulls back. Wade smiles down at him, and Peter blinks up at him, dazed. 

_Uh oh,_ Peter’s slow to start brain thinks. And then it goes, _is this so bad?_ And Wade leans down to kiss him again and Peter wants so badly to tip his head back and let him, but instead he turns his face away.

_No,_ he tells himself. He moves out from under Wade’s warm body and sits next to the man in the furs, forcing himself awake. His lips tingle with the remnants of Wade’s kiss. Sharing the furs with Wade at night probably hadn’t been the best idea, but sleeping with a warm body next to him had been comforting in an unfamiliar place, and Peter had been too optimistic that maybe the kiss had been a one off and then forgotten. Obviously, it was not.

“Wade, I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. Wade makes a confused sound, reading the unhappy facial expression Peter’s wearing. 

Peter touches his lips and shakes his head again, looking pointedly at Wade. “I can’t take advantage of you like that,” he says, and when Wade moves closer, his expression partly confused, partly determined, Peter presses a hand against his chest, stopping him.

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. 

Wade makes a sad sound, sitting back on the furs. He cocks his head, frowning, and touches his own mouth, slowly shaking his head, looking at Peter with a questioning expression.

Peter nods, even though his heart is sinking in his chest. He knows that this is right. 

Wade’s face falls but he nods, and that is that.

~~~

It’s a little strange between them, after that. Peter does his best to ignore it, but he can feel Wade’s gaze on him, and he can’t help but sometimes direct his own eyes towards Wade when he’s sure the man isn’t looking. It’s hard not to look at Wade; it’s like he’d been born to be Peter’s ideal eye candy, tall and built, with mouth-wateringly wide shoulders and powerful thighs that the leaf skirt hardly does anything to cover. He’s almost painfully handsome as well, his smile often making Peter’s heart skip a beat, and even though the scars aren’t exactly pretty, they’re part of Wade, and Peter easily starts to become fond of them in his own way. 

They pain Wade sometimes, though, which makes Peter less fond of them. Some days they decide to flare up, red and angry and twisted, cracking dry across Wade’s skin even if he hasn’t been in the sun for long, and damage control with aloe helps but doesn’t really do anything to keep the dryness away. Peter starts eyeing up coconuts, wondering if he’d be able to make coconut oil to keep Wade’s skin moisturised, and sets out to make some.

It doesn’t take long to figure out how. Peter finds that old, brown coconuts work best, and all he needs to do is scrape out their flesh with a shell and mulch it in his hands, dripping the milk back into the empty coconut shell. Then it’s just a waiting game, leaving the milk in the shade so the natural oils gather on top of the liquid, and Peter can scoop it off the top and collect it in another halved coconut.

Wade’s having a nap next to the cooling mist of the waterfall when Peter first shows him the result of his experiment. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Peter says, plopping down next to Wade’s head and poking at his shoulder. One brown eye peeks open at him and then closes again, Wade giving an exaggerated snore.

Peter rolls his eyes, grinning. Honestly, Wade is an idiot. He pokes the man again, and when Wade continues to ignore him, even as a slow smile spreads over his lips, Peter huffs and gets to his feet. 

“Whatever,” he says, walking away. He’s only gone one step before he yelps, almost tipping forward as Wade grabs him around one of his ankles. 

“You-” Peter accuses, glaring down at the man who’s grinning mischievously up at him. Peter sighs but can’t help but smile and sit back down, showing Wade what’s in the coconut shell when the man makes a curious sound.

“It’s coconut oil. It’ll help your skin. Hopefully,” he adds, poking at the semi solid off white oil. Wade makes another curious sound, sitting up with his legs crossed, and sticks his fingers in the stuff as well. Then he pops them in his mouth, makes a weird expression, looks at what’s left on his fingers and gives Peter a strange look.

Peter laughs. “It’s not for eating, dummy. Here.” He grabs Wade’s arm and smears some up from his wrist to elbow, rubbing it into his scars gently. “Feel okay?” He asks.

Wade blinks down at his arm, lifting it out of Peter’s grip and turning it this way and that, feeling over his skin. His face slowly brightens, and his smile is like a blinding sunbeam when he looks back at Peter. He chatters excitedly and before Peter knows it he’s been yanked forward and lifted up by his waist. Wade stands and then spins him around, laughing. 

“Put me down!” Peter says, but he’s laughing as well. Wade spins him around once more and then places him back down on his feet, leaning down and nuzzling happily across the side of Peter’s face.

Peter’s cheeks flare red under his freckles, and for a moment he thinks he should push Wade away, but Wade sounds so happy he doesn’t have the heart to. He presses back, just a little, going up on his tippy toes, and Wade’s cheerful humming deepens into a pleased rumble. His hands squeeze tight around Peter’s waist briefly, sending a jolt of excitement that Peter can’t stop running down his spine, before nuzzling one last time and pulling back. 

“I guess he likes it,” Peter says to himself and offers Wade the rest of the shell. Wade plucks it out of his hold and proceeds to slather himself in the oil, and it only takes a minute before Peter realises he’s made a grave mistake.

Wade’s bulk had been distracting before, but now that every muscle gleams with oil he’s impossible to look away from. Peter tips his head back and stares up at the canopy above him, thinking, _God give me strength._

~~~

It doesn’t help that they’re always so close. Peter knows that he should put some space between Wade and him, but Wade’s been so alone for so long that Peter feels awful pulling away. The man follows him everywhere, and even though he doesn’t try anything untoward anymore he’s always in Peter’s space, tugging at his hair and booping him on the nose, swinging big arms around his shoulders and waist, and begging for piggyback rides up in the trees. 

It’s driving Peter a little nuts. Not because he doesn’t like it, but because he _does._ Too much. Wade’s obviously touch starved, and he feels guilty for taking advantage of that and enjoying the contact, but he can’t just stop it without hurting Wade. So he tells himself to deal with it, and deal with it he does.

The dilemma also helps him distract himself from the fact that with every passing day with no sign of rescue, the chances of New York and any of his friends and family surviving the invasion gets less and less. He keeps track of the days by making notches in a tree trunk down by the beach, and by the time he gets to twenty a black hole has bloomed in his chest. Notch after notch it slowly starts to eat away at Peter’s hope, until he’s left clutching desperately at the remains of it as it slips between his fingers like grains of fine, golden sand.


	5. storm

The sun is high in the sky when Peter finally decides to get over his uneasiness about the ocean. It helps that today it’s nothing like what the sea looked like that stormy night; instead of endless black and thundering waves it’s quiet and calm, lapping gently up against the sand. Peter can even see small, bright fish darting around underneath the surface, and a coral reef further out, colourful and cheerful. 

The fact that Wade isn’t too far away, sitting under the shade and making another one of his flower crowns he’s so fond of adorning Peter with, helps settle Peter’s nerves as well. Any sign of distress from him and he’s sure Wade will come running. 

After a first, deep breath he carefully steps ankle deep in, scrunching the wet sand between his toes. Everything seems above board and no panic sets in, so he keeps going, the water creeping up over his knees and swirling between his thighs. A small smile spreads over his face as little green fish swim up to him and begin to dart playfully between his legs, tickling his skin as they brush past him.

“No so bad after all,” Peter says to himself, and walks in further. The water makes its way up to his chest, and when no distress freezes him up Peter takes a breath and ducks under. He comes back up grinning, relieved and happy, and slicks his hair back from his face. He turns and waves to Wade, who waves back from the beach, whooping.

Still smiling, Peter ducks back under and swims out to the coral reef that he’s spotted, only a little ways out from the shore.

It’s beautiful. Bright and healthy and teeming with wildlife. The coral is all sorts of colours, orange and pink and purple and green and yellow, swaying gently in the current. He floats over it, looking down and watching all sorts of sea-life go about their daily routines for a while, before he turns over and floats on his back, closing his eyes against the sun and enjoying its warmth.

His stomach grumbles a little but Peter ignores it, wanting to stay out in the water just a little longer, letting his body and mind just float. The sound of the ocean fills his ears, sea birds squawking above him while little fish come and nibble at his toes, curious. 

Then, all of a sudden, things go quiet.

A shiver runs down Peter’s spine, the hair on his arms standing up even in the warmth of the sun. He blinks open his eyes, frowning, and moves so he’s treading upright in the water. His Spidey-sense tingles along the edge of his awareness and he looks around, trying to spot what’s setting it off. Wade’s still happily weaving flowers together on the shore, and the ocean is calm as ever, nothing showing over the horizon except bright blue sky.

He looks down. All the fish are gone, leaving only the bright coral swaying in the current. Above him, no sea birds caw. 

He’s alone in the ocean.

His blood runs cold. He turns immediately to the shore; he needs to get out,  _ now.  _

He starts swimming, arms cutting neatly through the water. The tingle of his Spidey-sense suddenly becomes a scream. “Wade!” he calls out, heart in his throat, “something’s wrong-”

The rest of his words are lost in a gurgling scream as he’s yanked under the surface. He thrashes, kicking against the stinging hold around his ankle pulling him further down. White, frothing bubbles obscure his vision, his lungs strain for air and his heart thunders in his chest, and he thinks he’s going to drown just as he manages to break free.

He erupts through the surface of the water, gasping and coughing, but he has no time to pause to recover. He starts frantically swimming towards the shore again, risking a quick look over his shoulder.

Black, thorned tentacles rise from the surface. Darkness spreads through the water like thick, syrupy ink. Peter’s heart stops for a beat and then he’s throwing himself towards the beach, pulse thundering in his ears.

Wade’s running towards him. “No, run away!” Peter screams, waving him off. But Wade keeps coming as Peter’s dragged under again.

This time the alien has a better hold of him. Thorned tentacles bite into his ankles and calves, shredding his skin and hooking into his flesh. Peter screams into the water, ocean streaming into his lungs as he fights against it. He can’t see anything through the bubbles from his panicking and the spreading black, but in his mind's eye he can clearly see the gaping, massive mouth ringed with hundred of needle sharp teeth closing in on him. 

Wade crashes through the water next to him, and suddenly Peter’s free. He breaks the surface, coughing up water, and watches as Wade bashes another stone into the alien’s vulnerable, milky white eye. The alien shrieks inhumanly, its limbs thrashing through the water as it’s blinded, and Peter and Wade make a break for the shore.

They’re up on their feet, sprinting through the shallows while the alien tries to gather itself. Peter’s limping, blood streaming down his legs, and Wade turns, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist to help him.

“No,” Peter rasps, pushing him away, “go, keep going!”

Behind them, the alien shrieks again, the noise grating against Peter’s ears. He only has a second to shove Wade away from him before he goes down. He’s dragged through the sand, screaming, trying to kick out and rip away the thorned tentacles from his legs but the alien is too strong, even against his Spidey strength. He has no webs to help him, no Iron Man and Captain America to back him up, nothing.

He’s pulled towards the massive, dark mouth, teeth snapping as they close in on him. Panic gives Peter tunnel vision, and it’s all he can see, death approaching in seconds.

Wade comes in, yelling, a huge rock lifted above his head. The alien screeches, but all of its limbs are wrapped around Peter and it doesn’t have any spare to defend itself. The rock slams into its already ruined eye and the noise it shrieks makes Peter’s brain rattle in his skull. 

Wade is their only chance, and no matter how much his heart pounds having Wade so close to danger Peter has to make sure that he gets the best one, or they’re both dead. So instead of fighting for freedom, Peter does his best to hold onto the alien as Wade slams the rock down again and again, trying to stick to every limb as black, oily blood and ooze splatters across them. The alien writhes in Peter’s hold, shredding the skin on his hands as he holds on for dear life, screaming with the pain. A limb breaks free despite him and slashes across Wade’s chest, but the man doesn’t pause, just brings the rock back down again and again, his face a mask of rage. 

Slowly, the inhuman screeching begins to die. The limbs around Peter start to fall lax, but Peter holds on until all the strength leaves them, and the alien falls back, dead in the water. 

Wade drops the rock one last time in the ruin of the alien’s face and leaves it in the mess of gore. He goes to his knees next to Peter and rips away the limp tentacles, uncaring of the sharp thorns that tear into his skin. The gashes across his palms heal almost instantly. 

A wounded noise comes from Wade’s mouth when he sees the bloodied mess that Peter’s been turned into. Hundreds of little cuts litter his skin, seeping blood into the water beneath him. Wade’s hands hover over him like he doesn’t know where to touch, but Peter reaches up to him with trembling arms and Wade can’t do anything else but scoop him up out of the wet sand, cradling him to his chest.

Peter clings to Wade, fingers slipping in his own blood as he clutches at Wade’s shoulders. He’s distantly aware of his own body shaking, tears leaking from his eyes, the stinging pain of his skin and the deep ache of bruises, but everything seems so far away as he stares over Wade’s shoulder at the body of the alien, tentacles swaying gently in the surf. 

Wade makes a noise and Peter closes his eyes, burying his face into Wade’s neck. The man holds him close and walks him out onto the beach, and into the safe, familiar shadows of the jungle.

~~~

Peter gnaws at his lower lip against the pain as Wade gently cleans his wounds, the man letting water trickle out between his cupped palms and over Peter’s skin, washing away the sand and blood and black gore. The familiar, steady rush of the waterfall nearby helps, and the cool stone beneath him soothes the hot ache of his bruises and cuts. 

Wade murmurs quietly to him, his voice low and comforting. Peter smiles weakly in response and then hisses as Wade carefully pries a thorn out from his lower leg, broken off in his flesh from the alien’s spiky tentacles. A pile of discarded thorns already lie next to him, tipped with his blood. 

Most of his wounds have healed already. The cuts covering him were mostly shallow, but the deeper ones over his legs and palms are going to take longer to heal, along with the bruising already beginning to darken. Wade makes a low, sympathetic sound as he inspects one of Peter’s hands, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. 

“I’ll be alright soon,” Peter says. “I don’t have your healing abilities, but my own aren’t something to sneeze at.” 

Wade blinks at him and then brushes his lips over Peter’s knuckles, the only spot on Peter’s hands that aren’t injured. It makes Peter smile again, and even though he feels pale and dizzy, a light blush spreads across his cheeks. Wade rumbles happily at the upturn of his lips and sets to covering Peter’s cuts with leaves, tying the makeshift bandages in place with thin vines. 

“Thank you,” Peter says when Wade finishes. His smile turns wobbly as he inspects his leaf wrapped hands. He’s still trembling. 

Wade makes a soft, careful sound. Peter glances up and then back down, hating the tears beginning to burn in his eyes. He shouldn’t cry. There’s no reason to; the alien is dead, Wade is unharmed and Peter is alive. But still, the tears come. 

He’d just been so  _ scared.  _

Large, warm hands cup his face, and Wade coos sadly at him. Peter sniffs, ashamed of the wetness dripping down his cheeks, but Wade refuses to let him duck away and hide his face. Instead the man brushes away his tears as they fall with the pads of his thumbs, sighing in sympathy. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says through his hiccups. “You must think I’m such a stupid crybaby. I’m not usually like this, I swear.”

Wade hushes him, but Peter keeps talking. He has to or he thinks he might fall apart. 

“I don’t understand why this is happening,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. More tears spill out over his cheeks. “First there’s an alien invasion, fine, that’s cool, we’ve dealt with those before, we’re New York, after all. But they don’t stop, they just keep coming, and they don’t want to talk, or negotiate, they just want to  _ eat,  _ and  _ destroy.  _ So I hop onto the Avenjet to go get Steve and Bucky from their mission in Australia of all places, and end up crashing in the Pacific Ocean, washing up on a deserted island with no way of getting home. And then I meet  _ you,  _ and you make me feel- I don’t know, but you make me  _ feel  _ even though we haven’t even had a single conversation yet, but I- I can’t because- because all my friends might be dead and I’m  _ terrified  _ that they are and that I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life here, and I hate myself because sometimes I don’t think that it’ll be that bad because it’ll be with you. And I’m scared and confused and I want May and I want to go  _ home  _ and then that- that stupid alien fucking scared the shit out of me! I thought I was going to lose you! I was so  _ scared.” _

Somewhere during Peter’s rant, Wade had pulled him close, and Peter sobs into his shoulder. Wade hums in the back of his throat, running his hands over Peter’s hair. Peter cries until he can’t anymore, and he just sits, huddled into Wade’s chest, trembling with the aftershocks of his outburst. 

After a while he manages to gather himself, pulling back and wiping his face with his forearm. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I think I got snot on you.”

Wade tilts his head to the side, searching Peter’s face with his eyes. His hands are solid and reassuring around Peter’s waist, his expression worried. He rumbles something careful and affectionate, the sounds unstructured but meaningful. Peter musters up a weak smile in response, and Wade’s answering smile is so tender that it makes Peter want to wrap himself in Wade’s warmth and never ever think of leaving. 

“How are you so perfect?” Peter asks. 

Wade just smiles, and boops him on the nose. Something tight and painful in Peter’s chest gives way, and he laughs.

~~~

The alien is still dead in the water when Peter and Wade make it back out to the beach. It’s still eerily quiet; the jungle void of movement, no birds singing and no insects buzzing, no monkeys howling in the trees. The crabs aren’t skittering across the sand and no bright fish are swimming in the ocean. It’s just Peter, Wade, and the dark, otherworldly corpse swaying with the tide.

Peter makes it a few meters away from it and doesn’t want to go any further, making a face at the putrid smell the body gives off. It’s already rotting, leaking out black, syrupy fluid as flesh melts from its tentacles. Peter counts seven, all joined to a misshapen, lumpy center body, where its one eye is just a hole of gore above its lax, gaping hole of a mouth. One of its main fangs used to rip flesh from bone has been broken, and it’s that sight that makes Peter realise that he’s met this particular alien before. He’d broken that fang off himself, in a mad fight for his life above the Pacific Ocean in the Avenjet. It must’ve been floating at sea this entire time and finally found its way, somehow, to Peter and Wade’s little island paradise.

Peter shivers at the memory, feeling cold even in the warm sun. He watches as Wade picks up a long piece of driftwood and pokes at the corpse, making disgusted sounds. But he keeps pushing at it, moving it further out into the surf, until the current catches it. Then he makes his way back to Peter’s side, and they both watch it float out further to sea, until it’s a tiny black dot against the horizon.

The sounds of the jungle slowly come back to life. Insects begin to hum and birds begin to sing, and crabs creep out from their hiding spots to scamper across the sand. Fish reappear out from the coral and swim lazy circles under the water, monkeys resume their chatter and seabirds begin their circling above. The black, oily stain the alien had left in its wake fades quietly away into the ocean, until all that is left is clear, pure water, the surface sparkling in the sun. 

~~~

That night it rains.

The wind begins to pick up and the treehouse creaks ominously. Peter lies awake in the furs, staring up at the slowly spinning shells suspended from the ceiling. Everytime he closes his eyes all he sees is the alien’s gaping maw of a mouth closing in on him, razor sharp teeth snapping and black blood oozing. 

Beside him Wade breathes steadily, splayed out in his usual fashion, snoring every now and then. The rain begins to fall heavier, pelting against the wooden roof, and distant thunder rumbles. Peter curls up tighter, holding his injured hands carefully against his chest. He’s so tired but he can’t sleep. 

A bright flash sears through the darkness of the tree hut and Peter jumps, hairs standing on end. Thunder follows after. A storm is approaching. 

Wade shifts, turning over onto his side. Peter stares wide eyed as Wade stretches and then blinks sleepily at him, yawning. Peter jerks again as more lightning flashes and Wade makes a worried sound, reaching out to him as thunder booms, closer than before. 

Peter lets Wade pull him into his arms, burying his face into his chest to block out the storm. When Wade feels the trembling of Peter’s body he coos, cupping the back of Peter's head and scratching his nails gently over Peter’s scalp. The rain becomes a downpour, the wind howling through the trees as lightning flares and thunder crashes so loudly Peter can feel it in his bones. 

Peter has never been afraid of storms. As a kid he’d loved watching the lightning from his bedroom window, drinking hot chocolate with May and Ben as they’d enjoyed the spectacle together. But now all the storm reminds him of is falling and the dread and the knowledge of his imminent demise that he had felt as the black ocean grew closer and closer, heralding death. It doesn’t matter that he’d survived; he still remembers the terror like it was only yesterday. 

He feels ridiculous, shaking in Wade’s arms like a child, but he’s too tired to feel ashamed anymore. He knows Wade won’t judge. The man just hums soothingly to him, big body shielding Peter from the outside world as he presses kisses to the crown of Peter’s head. The warmth of him chases Peter’s trembling away, and even though when Peter closes his eyes he still sees black tentacles and an angry ocean waiting to swallow him whole, his heart mirrors Wade’s steady heartbeat, and he sleeps.


	6. surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strap in folks this is where things start to get steamy~

The morning dawns bright and clear.

Peter’s warm and comfortable and in that pleasant moment where he’s not quite asleep but not quite awake yet either. Everything is hazy and honeyed and perfect, and the ache of his injuries is only a dull pain on the edge of his consciousness.

The sun is creeping slowly up his legs, birds chirping cheerfully outside and insects busily buzzing already. Peter snuggles in closer to Wade’s side, sighing happily. 

A heavy arm wraps around his middle as Wade turns over onto his side, pulling Peter closer to him and tucking Peter’s head under his chin. A chaste kiss is placed in Peter’s messy morning curls and Peter can’t help but smile into Wade’s chest, his cheeks already flushed from sleep. 

“Good morning,” he says.

Wade rumbles in response, squeezing Peter a little. He buries his face into Peter’s hair and breathes out, stroking Peter’s skin idly with his fingers. 

Peter has the warm fuzzies in his stomach and he can’t bear the thought of pulling away. He knows he should, but just the idea of it feels so wrong. _Just a little longer,_ he thinks to himself, snuggling into Wade’s warm body, _and then I will._

He falls gently back to sleep.

~~~

It’s a slow start that morning. When they finally emerge from the treehouse the sun is high in the sky and the jungle is teeming with busy wildlife. The storm hadn’t been too bad last night; no trees have fallen and the heat has already evaporated most of the puddles left from the rain. Wade forages quickly for food as Peter blinks sleepily at the base of the tree, hands still useless as they heal. 

Wade returns with small green bananas and coconuts and sweet, edible plant roots. He sits down and peels a banana for Peter, handing it over. Peter awkwardly grabs it, fumbling it with his bandaged up hands and hissing as his cuts pull and sting. He ends up dropping it onto the jungle floor, lips downturned.

“Damn it,” he mutters. 

Wade makes a sympathetic sound and peels another banana. This time instead of handing it over to Peter he breaks off a piece in his fingers, holding it up to Peter’s mouth.

Cheeks going red, Peter eyes the piece of banana, looks up at Wade’s encouraging gaze, and then back to the banana again. His fingers twitch in pain and his stomach rumbles and his ears turn hot, and he obediently opens his mouth, accepting the small morsel of fruit.

Wade smiles and as Peter chews he takes his own mouthful of banana, and then holds up more banana for Peter to take. Peter leans forward, eyes lowered shyly, and takes the piece from Wade’s fingers. His lips brush against the roughness of Wade’s skin and Wade makes a short, strangled noise.

“Sorry,” Peter says after he swallows, feeling like his face is on fire. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.”

Wade makes another noise and holds up a piece of sweet root, his eyes glued to Peter’s mouth. This time when Peter leans forward he tries not to brush up against Wade’s fingers, but Wade’s hand wavers at the last second and he ends up touching them anyway. His lips tingle from the contact as he pulls back, something in his stomach jumping when he looks up and realises that Wade’s eyes have glazed over and his cheeks have gone suspiciously pink.

_Oh,_ he thinks, _I should stop._

But when he takes another piece of banana he’s even bolder, placing something like a kiss to the tips of Wade’s fingers. Wade’s eyes go huge and his mouth falls open and Peter’s blushing so hard at his own forwardness that he thinks he might just as well paint his face permanently red. 

“Sorry,” he says again, gaze directed down at the ground and stomach squirming in shame. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

Wade makes an enquiring noise, holding out another piece of fruit. Peter knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t even hesitate leaning forward and accepting it. But this time he doesn’t leave a kiss on Wade’s fingertips, just delicately takes the piece of banana in his teeth and withdraws, trying to ignore the disappointed look on Wade’s heavily scarred face. 

~~~

“You know, you’re taking the fact that aliens are real pretty well,” Peter says as he watches Wade inspect the pile of flowers he’s gathered. 

Wade looks up at him, tilting his head in that cute way of his. He garbles something unintelligible, smiling, and goes back to discarding flowers that he deems unacceptable to grace Peter’s head with. 

“I mean, I would’ve at least expected some theatrics,” Peter mutters. “Screaming, head holding, maybe even some staring blankly over the horizon. But nope, nada.”

Wade’s humming as he strings some flowers together, twisting their steams and braiding vines into it to keep it sturdy. He’s already made a flower crown for himself, bright pinks and purples and yellows wrapped around his head. 

Peter watches Wade braid the rest of the flowers, eyes wandering over the man as he does, lingering over his broad chest and shoulders and then looking away abruptly when he realises what he’s doing. 

Finished with his masterpiece, Wade holds up his flower crown triumphantly. Peter ducks his head obediently and then grins up at Wade, who beams back. 

“I think it’s your best one yet,” Peter says. “I love the colors.” 

Wade chirps something, cupping Peter’s face in his big, capable hands and turning Peter’s face this way and that to get a good look. He makes an awed _ahh_ sound and Peter laughs. 

When Wade smiles, it glows brighter than the sun. Something in Peter’s chest warms in response, curling up right next to his heart, where it settles stubbornly and refuses to leave. 

_Oh dear,_ he thinks to himself. _I think I’m falling in love._

~~~

The revelation makes Peter quiet. It makes him want to talk to May, to ask for advice, to tell MJ and get teased about it, to whine about it to Ned who’ll encourage Peter no matter what, to get who he’s mooning over squeezed from him by Mr Stark. The heartache gets all mixed in with guilt and confusion and Peter honestly has no idea what to do with himself.

So he just sits by the waterfall and watches Wade chase monkeys around to his heart's content. He’s practically covered in flower chains that Wade has made him, dripping in bright blooms hung around his neck and shoulders and wrists and ankles, flowers tucked into his leaf skirt. It’s almost like Wade thinks that they’ll help Peter heal faster. Peter appreciates the effort; he likes to think that he does feel a little better.

Wade finally gives up after what feels like hours and flops down next to Peter, exhausted. Peter smiles weakly down at him and Wade rolls over onto his side, his face questioning.

“It’s nothing,” Peter lies, “just- my hands. It sucks.” He lifts them up and waves them around a bit for emphasis, flower chains dangling from his arms. 

Wade’s face falls a little and he gently captures Peter’s wrists in his hands, leaning down and placing a kiss on the tender inside of both of them. Peter’s fingers twitch at the touch and his stomach clenches, and he watches wide eyed as Wade looks up at him, his expression searching. He must find something in Peter’s gaze, because he leans back down again and starts to dot the lightest of kisses up Peter’s forearms. 

He leaves tingling skin in his wake, placing two lingering kisses on the inside of Peter’s elbows, his lips warm and rough. Peter shivers but doesn’t stop him; he can’t, he’s helpless against the unashamed heat in Wade’s eyes, the affectionate curve of his mouth. 

“Wade,” he whispers. He’s so _torn._ He knows he should stop this, but he’s finding it harder and harder to find the conviction to. 

Wade’s lips travel up his left bicep and up to his shoulder. Peter’s frozen, breath coming shorter as Wade pauses at his collarbone, nose brushing over the sensitive skin of his neck. He drops a single kiss on the juncture between Peter’s shoulder and throat and pulls back, letting Peter’s wrists fall from his hands. His eyes are heavy lidded as he observes Peter’s flushed face, his lips pink from kisses.

The air between them feels thick and weighted and heavy, and it’s not just the humidity. Peter swallows loudly, and then Wade is standing and walking away, mumbling something to himself. Peter watches him go, biting his lip.

~~~

Peter should stop what’s developing between them, but he doesn’t. He should keep his distance, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to. It feels _wrong,_ now, like he’s pushing away a part of himself.

He doesn’t pull away when Wade wraps an arm around his middle and hitches him up on his hip, just clings closer with his arms wrapped around Wade’s shoulders as the man climbs to the tree hut and deposits Peter into the furs. That’s where he feeds Peter dinner, fingers lingering over Peter’s mouth as Peter leans forward to take every piece of fruit and cooked fish offered to him. 

It’s intimate, and quiet, the sun setting in the background, casting warm orange and pinks and golds through the little treehouse. At the end of the meal Wade carries Peter up onto the roof to watch the last rays of sun disappear, his arm wrapped securely around Peter’s waist, Peter’s head resting on his shoulder.

Slowly, the first few stars begin to appear in the night sky. “I miss New York,” Peter says, looking up at them. “I miss the tall buildings and the hot dogs and the awful traffic, and I miss May and her burnt popcorn and Ned’s comic book obsession and MJ’s weird sketchbooks and Mr Stark’s and my sleepless project weeks. I even miss Rhino and the Sandman and Mysterio’s stupid fishbowl.”

Wade rumbles gently in response, fingers idly drawing patterns over the bare skin of Peter’s hip showing over the top of his leaf skirt. 

Peter sighs, snuggling closer. “I hope everyone is alright,” he whispers into Wade’s marred skin. He doesn’t want to voice the fact that he’s lost most of his hope. Peter doesn’t hate much, but he _hates_ those aliens. 

Fingers touch under his chin and Peter lifts his head, blinking away tears. Wade murmurs softly to him and leans forward to kiss his eyelids, catching the remnants of Peter’s tears on his lips. 

“I think I’ve cried in front of you more than anyone else I’ve ever met combined,” Peter says quietly. 

Wade hums low, and presses an affectionate kiss to Peter’s cheek. Peter leans into it, wishing that his hands were healed already so he could hold onto Wade’s shoulders and feel the pattern of his scars against his palms. Wade brushes another kiss on Peter’s other cheek, and then one on his nose, making a cute little _boop_ sound as he does.

_Oh god,_ Peter thinks to himself as his heart stutters. The last of his resistance just _melts._ He makes a small, desperate whine in the back of his throat, tilts his face up just a little bit and seals his lips against Wade’s.

Wade goes very still. Peter pulls back to see Wade looking at him, face unreadable.

“I-” Peter starts, not even sure what he’s going to say. For a solid moment his mind blanks in a panic, but all his worries are silenced as Wade surges forward and catches his mouth with his. 

Like last time, Wade kisses with the same energy he wakes up with every day. Fervent and explosive and over the top, but utterly perfect. Peter groans as their mouths meet again and again, hot and wet and addictive. Peter honestly cannot think for the life of him why he hadn’t wanted to do this before. 

“Wade, please,” he gasps as they take a breather. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for, he just knows that now that he’s let himself give in, he can’t stop. Wade moans back at him, holding the back of Peter’s neck and reeling him back in, licking into Peter’s mouth with what seems like even more enthusiasm than before.

Peter’s just as eager, slinging his arms around Wade’s wide shoulders and moving so close he’s practically in Wade’s lap, making sounds he would usually be embarrassed about. Wade sucks at his bottom lip and then nips at it and Peter goes soft and pliant in Wade’s hold, almost purring. The man could do anything he wanted to Peter right now and Peter would let him, and let him gladly. 

Wade’s hands smooth down over his shoulders and chest, wrapping around Peter’s waist and squeezing slightly. Then they venture down further, slipping under Peter’s leaf skirt and grabbing two big handfuls of his ass. Peter’s entire body jerks and he yelps, but then he quickly melts as Wade starts kneading the plump rounds of them, making heat pool in his stomach and between his legs.

Wade chuckles at him, nosing down his neck and latching into his collarbone, sucking a deep, dark mark into the skin there and making Peter’s toes curl. Then his mouth ventures down further, leaving a wet, cooling trail of saliva over Peter’s chest as he licks over Peter’s nipple.

“Oh-” Peter moans and then cries out as Wade _bites,_ sending a shock of pleasure right to his cock. “Wade, oh my god-” Wade seals his lips around it and sucks, worrying at the pink bud with his teeth and tongue, hands still groping at Peter’s butt, until Peter is a squirming, panting mess in Wade’s lap, erection rising hot and flushed from his leaf skirt. 

“Please,” Peter begs, “Wade, oh-” He would usually be ashamed about how high pitched and needy his voice has gone, but he honestly doesn’t care right now. He spies Wade’s own cock peeking up between the leaves of his skirt and he moans at the sight of it, heavy and scarred and _huge._ He wants to touch it so bad but his palms twinge with pain to remind him that he can’t, and he almost wants to cry.

Wade gives one last nip to Peter’s over sensitive nipple and leans back, looking down at their laps with a hungry look in his eyes. He yanks Peter closer by his ass and Peter gasps as their erections bump together, his hips bucking uncontrollably. His dick almost looks small compared to Wade’s, and Peter _loves it._

Wade groans deep in his chest as Peter rolls his hips, rubbing their cocks against each other’s. Wade encourages him with his hands on his ass and then pries one hand off to wrap a broad palm around both of them, fingers circling both of their dicks tightly.

Peter cries out at the touch, thighs tightening around Wade’s waist as Wade quickly begins to jerk both of them off, leaning forward to mouth and bite at Peter’s neck. Peter lets his head tip back, holding Wade’s head close with his arms around his shoulders as he moans Wade’s name to the rapidly darkening sky.

“I’m- I’m gonna come,” Peter pants, pleasure building up fast as Wade efficiently works at both their cocks. Wade groans against his neck, fingers digging into Peter’s ass and teeth biting down on his throat, and speeds up his hand. Pre-cum from both their cocks slicks his way and Peter squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his orgasm build in his belly. “Wade-” he shouts as the dam breaks and he starts to come, back arching as Wade strokes him through wave after wave of pleasure.

Come spills over Wade’s hand and the man groans, letting go of their cocks as Peter goes limp, spent. Peter can only whine weakly as Wade tips him over onto his back and settles between his spread legs, lifting them and holding both of Peter’s knees together with one hand, his other guiding his cock in between the softness of Peter’s thighs. He fucks between them desperately, using Peter’s cum and his own pre-cum as lube, moaning deep in his chest.

Peter can only watch in a post orgasm daze and make quiet, encouraging sounds as Wade’s cock pulses between his thighs and then begins to spurt a copious amount of hot cum, dripping down Peter’s skin and over his softening cock. It gives a valiant twitch at Wade coming on him and Peter whimpers as Wade shakes through the last of his orgasm and then collapses over him.

Wade’s heavy and sweaty and perfect and Peter makes a happy, tired sound, getting one in response from Wade. 

“Woah,” Peter croaks after both he and Wade have caught their breath. Wade finally manages to prop himself up on his forearms and grin down at Peter, face still flushed and damp with sweat. He chirps something and then leans down to kiss Peter again, this time lazily, without an edge of desperation. It still makes Peter’s toes curl. 

“Why didn’t we do that before?” Peter asks as Wade nuzzles his cheek. He still feels slightly dumb from how hard and fast he came, but suddenly things feel so much clearer. It’s only now that it’s obvious to him that Wade’s an adult, fully in charge of himself and his wants, and he doesn’t need Peter to protect him from mutual desire. Peter had only just been making things complicated for no goddamn reason.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Peter says to himself and then yelps as Wade bites at his ear, tugging playfully at his earlobe. He laughs, squirming. “Hey, that tickles!”

Wade huffs a laugh and gets to his knees, scooping Peter up in his arms before standing. He then swings them both back into the tree house and settles them down into the furs, laying Peter out on his back and smearing his cum over Peter’s stomach with his palm, his gaze heavy and pleased. 

Peter goes bright red under his freckles and wriggles under Wade’s touch. “That shouldn’t be so hot,” he says, and then yawns.

Rumbling happily, Wade snuggles into his side and kisses his cheek.

“Good night,” Peter mumbles, smiling. Wade hums something in response and Peter let his eyes drift slowly closed.


	7. mystery

Wade smearing his cum over Peter’s stomach had been hot the night before, but in the morning it is decidedly far more itchy and uncomfortable.

Peter leaves Wade snoring in the furs, wincing as the mixture of his and Wade’s cum tugs at his skin as he climbs down from the treehouse awkwardly, hands still wrapped in leaves. Their seed has dried over his stomach and between his legs and he desperately needs to wash it off, like yesterday.

“Note to self, wash after sex,” he mutters as he makes his way to the waterfall. He strips off his leaf skirt and wades in, sighing as the dried mess on his skin starts to fall away. His hands feel better, so he curiously tugs off some of the leaves with his teeth and makes a happy noise when he discovers closed, pink wounds, well on their way to being fully healed.

He rips the rest of the makeshift bandages off and happily flexes his hands. “Hell yeah,” he says, grinning. 

There’s a splash behind him and Peter looks over his shoulder to see Wade walking into the water towards him, a soft, silly smile on his face. He drapes his warm, big body over Peter’s back and shoulders, rumbling happily in his ear as he sees Peter’s healed hands.

“Hey, you,” Peter says, leaning back into Wade and nuzzling into the side of his face. Affection settles like golden honey in his stomach when Wade kisses his cheek, mumbling something low and lovingly that Peter can’t understand. 

“Good morning to you too,” Peter says and hums as Wade cups his chin in a broad hand and seals their lips together, squeezing Peter tight in his arms. Peter melts into him, hands clutching at Wade’s forearm as the man proceeds to make his knees go weak with his tongue and lips. 

They end up at the water's edge, Peter draped on his back on a sun warmed rock, Wade between his legs as they kiss lazily. Wade’s leaf skirt has long since been discarded, floating somewhere to their left. Peter’s taking the opportunity to feel every inch of Wade that he can now that his hands are usable, smoothing his palms over Wade’s wide shoulders and down his thick biceps, over his chest and abs and grabbing handfuls of his ass, laughing as Wade groans and bucks into him. His scars are such an interesting texture, smooth and rough at the same time, whirling and dipping as Peter’s fingers follow them down to between Wade’s legs.

As he wraps his fingers around Wade’s girth Wade moans low and long, breaking their kiss to pant into Peter’s neck. Peter nibbles at his ear as he familiarises himself with the size and weight of Wade’s cock, thumbing over the wet, bulbous tip and feeling over the sensitive glands, moaning himself at the heaviness of Wade’s thick erection. He can hardly wrap his fingers around it, it’s so big, and long as well. It’s going to be an effort for it to fit inside of him, but Peter’s eager to try. 

He weighs Wade’s balls in his hands, cupping them gently. They’re just as hairless as the rest of him, warm and smooth and full. Wade groans as Peter manipulates them gently and bites down on Peter’s throat, sucking another deep, dark mark next to the one he’d left last night. Peter cries out as he sinks his teeth in a little deeper, leaving an indent of bite on his skin. 

“Wade,” he moans, tipping his head back to let Wade suck a constellation of lovebites across his throat and collarbones. He fists Wade’s cock and starts to stroke it, Wade’s hips bucking in his hold. Peter hooks a leg over Wade’s side and flips them over effortlessly, grinning down at Wade’s bewildered face. 

“You can’t always be on top,” he says, leaning down to kiss him. Wade moans and gropes at his ass, squeezing and rubbing his palms over Peter’s smooth skin. Peter lets himself roll his hips just once, riding over Wade’s cock and making their erections bump together. They both moan but Peter slithers down Wade’s body instead of continuing, feeling over the firmness of his pecs and impressive six pack and pressing kisses into the mottled skin as he goes. Wade’s breathing becomes heavier as he licks over his lower stomach teasingly. 

Hands bury themselves in the curly mess of Peter’s hair and tug gently. Peter lets out a keen, a pulse of arousal making precum drip from his own cock. Wade makes a breathy, intrigued noise and pulls at his hair again and Peter’s entire body trembles, resting his forehead against Wade’s hip. 

“No fair,” Peter whimpers, “you found my weak spot so fast.” He groans again as Wade tugs a little harder and in retaliation he grabs the base of Wade’s thick cock and licks over the head of it. Salty bitterness coats his tongue from Wade’s precum and Wade makes a loud noise that sounds like a curse, fingers tightening in Peter’s hair. The pain makes Peter whimper in pleasure and he sucks the tip of Wade’s cock into his mouth, sealing his lips over it and tonguing at the slit.

Wade’s hips buck and Peter has to hold him down to stop the man from choking him. Wade makes an apologetic noise but Peter just grins around his mouthful and sinks down further, jaw straining around the thickness of Wade’s cock. Wade breathes heavily through his nose as his cock jumps in Peter’s mouth, dribbling more precum over his tongue and the back of his throat. 

Peter begins to bob his head, cheeks flushing under his freckles at the obscene noises his mouth makes around Wade’s cock, slurping wet and loud. Wade seems to love it judging from the noises he makes and the way his hips twitch, so Peter keeps going, reaching down between his own legs to stroke at his own aching cock. When his jaw starts to ache too much he draws off with a wet pop and licks up and down Wade’s scarred dick until he can fit it back into his mouth, moaning around the mouthful. He’d forgotten how much he liked to give blowjobs. 

Wade’s abs tense and his cock pulses in Peter’s mouth and Peter gives one last, hard suck before Wade yanks him off his dick by his hair and comes over his face, painting his cheeks and nose and lips with hot cum. Peter whimpers and fists faster at his own straining erection, eyes popping open from when he’d closed them in case he got cum in his eye as Wade flips them over again, diving down between Peter’s legs without any warning.

“Ohmygod,” Peter gasps out as Wade throws his thighs over his shoulders and swallows his cock. His back arches against the stone behind him and his hands scramble for purchase, hips bucking in Wade’s hold. Wade deepthroats him like it’s something he does everyday, throat tight around Peter as his nose bumps up against Peter’s pubic bone, burrowing into the brown curls there. Peter cries out loudly and cums, entire body shaking through the intensity of it. 

Wade draws off of him slowly, giving the head one last lick. Peter whines and twitches and Wade climbs up his body, leaning down to share the taste of his own cum with him. Peter does his best to kiss back but it feels like his entire body has gone numb and his brain has been sucked out through his dick, so he just kind of makes useless little sounds and lets Wade plunder his mouth.

Wade finally pulls back and coos down at him, thumbing through the mess over Peter’s face and smearing it further, grinning. Peter makes a face up at him even as his flush reddens even more. 

“Caveman,” he says, sitting up and batting Wade’s hands away. He washes Wade’s cum off his face as Wade sits behind him, their legs trailing in the water, Wade’s on the outside of Peter’s and Wade’s chin on his shoulder.

Peter yelps as Wade gropes at his chest, pinching one of his nipples. Wade laughs and Peter squirms out of his hold, slipping down into the water and glaring at him. “You’re going to be insatiable, aren’t you?” he accuses. 

Wade grins unapologetically and lowers himself down into the water as well, gaze predatory. 

“You animal!” Peter cries and dives away as Wade lunges for him. But he’s laughing as Wade gives chase, and if he lets Wade catch him sooner than he should have, well, there’s nobody else around to know anyway.

~~~

The sun is just moving past its highest point when Peter manages to escape Wade’s clutches, covered in lovebites and lips swollen from kisses. Wade seems knocked out from another two orgasms, taking an afternoon nap in the hut, snoring loudly. 

“That man is an actual caveman,” Peter says to himself as he inspects his chest, blushing as he counts seven hickeys over his skin, a couple lower and over his hip bones. He’s not sure what his throat looks like, but judging from the low ache in his neck he probably looks like he’s been attacked by a vacuum cleaner. 

Contrary to his words though, he really doesn’t mind the fact that he’s marked up all over. He likes the feeling of them on his skin, bruised and aching, reminding him of Wade’s mouth and hands on him. It’s nice to be the overwhelmed partner for once as well; his enhanced healing and strength seem to make his sex drive stronger than what is usually considered normal, and other partners have been taken aback by it. Now though, he’s the one fending off Wade, but not with any particular effort. 

Smiling goofily to himself, Peter swings out of the window and decides to get some exercise, eager to use his hands again. He avoids the beach and instead takes to the trees, swinging through the dense jungle, bouncing from tree to tree and pushing how fast he can go without braining himself on a branch.

Before long he finds himself back in the part of the jungle where Wade hadn’t wanted to go. He pauses on a branch, crouching down and looking around. He’d kind of forgotten about what had happened and how Wade had almost looked afraid when Peter had headed this way. It had just kind of slipped his mind with all the worrying about New York and the self flagellation over his feelings for Wade. 

Nothing looks any different than the rest of the jungle around him, so Peter heads in, curious. He lands on a mossy branch, something glinting from the ground through the dense foliage at him.

Squinting, Peter moves towards it, coming to a spot where the dense canopy of the jungle breaks. Trees have fallen and broken, leaning against their companions, dead and rotting away, covered in fungus. And down below, almost completely covered in foliage, something sits in the sun, big and box shaped, metal glinting through the gaps in the vines and leaves.

Frowning, Peter slips off the branch he’s standing on and lands lightly beside it. It’s big, whatever it is, taller than him by a foot and just as wide. He circles it once, perplexed. The box leans heavily into one corner, embedded in the dirt. “How did you get here?” He mutters. 

Seeing nothing interesting after he completes his circuit, he steps closer, brushing away plants to get a better picture of what’s under them. At first all that’s revealed is rusted metal, but as Peter pulls away more greenery, he finds a number pad, its glass screen shattered and dark. Frowning, he brushes away more leaves and then rips away huge hunks of plants, finding a big, heavy metal door next to the number pad, a small, plastic window set into it. When Peter peers into it, it’s impossible to see anything through the dusty, dirty glass. 

He runs his fingers over the seams of the door, pausing at a spot that has been pulled in, creating a gap between the door and its frame. His blood runs cold as he realizes that small grooves in the dent are made from fingernails, settling his own fingers over the marks. The spaces between them are further apart than Peter’s fingers, even when he spreads them as far as he can. Whoever had been clawing at the door from the inside had to have bigger hands than him. Broad hands, with a wide grip. Like Wade’s.

Heartbeat beginning to quicken, Peter gets his hands in the gap and pulls. The door swings open with a loud, painful screech, the locking mechanism long broken. Peter winces at the noise, looking up as birds launch themselves up into the sky with a rustle of wings and leaves, startled. Without their singing the jungle falls eerily quiet.

Inside the box is dark and dank, smelling of old rot. Peter wrinkles his nose at it, looking closer in. Under the rust there are more scratch marks, hundreds of them, up and down the four walls, over the ceiling and across the floor. Other than that, it’s empty.

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck and arms stand up as he takes another look at the floor. In the middle of it there is a dent, and surrounding it, what he thought before was a darker patch of rust, is in fact a massive, old blood stain. 

He takes a step back, and then another. He feels vaguely nauseous, sick to the stomach and lightheaded. There is no way he’s sticking around longer.

Turning on his heel he leaps back into the trees, leaving the metal box behind him, not looking back even once.

~~~

Wade’s exactly where Peter left him, snoring in his furs, limbs splayed out haphazardly. Peter kneels down beside him, brushing the back of his fingers over Wade’s heavily scarred cheek.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, frowning. Wade snuffles and turns his cheek into Peter’s touch, mumbling incomprehensible words.

Peter sighs and then yelps as Wade grabs him around the waist and manhandles him down into the furs, wrapping Peter in his arms and rumbling happily. Peter blinks in surprise and then relaxes, the uneasiness in his chest melting away as Wade kisses the crown of his head and snuggles him closer. 

“Wade,” Peter whispers, and Wade grumbles, tipping Peter’s head up. He frowns sleepily at Peter’s worried expression and brushes his lips over the wrinkles between Peter’s brow, trying to soothe them away. Peter’s frown lessens and he cups Wade’s face in his hands, pulling back to inspect him. He wishes he knew what was going on behind those brown eyes, and what had caused Wade’s night terrors and given him his scars. 

Wade blinks at him, confused and getting more worried as Peter’s eyes run over every inch of his face. He whines a little and Peter kisses him gently to shush him. “I wish we could talk,” Peter says against his mouth. “I want to know everything about you.”

Wade rumbles something back at him. He breaks the kiss and pulls back, placing his hand on Peter’s chest, over his heart, looking imploringly into Peter’s eyes. The depth of feeling in his gaze makes Peter’s breath catch. 

Peter smiles at him, pressing his forehead against Wade’s. He lays a palm over Wade’s heart as well, feeling the strong, reassuring thump of it against Wade’s chest.

“Me too, Wade,” he says, “me too.”


	8. heat

Most nights they eat dinner up on the roof of the treehut, watching the sun go down as they throw banana skins and fish bones as far as they can into the treetops. Wade pouts every time Peter wins, but he’s easily placated with kisses, the big softy. But tonight they forgo their competition, just absently munching on mangos and cooked birds’ eggs.

“It’s really beautiful here,” Peter says, leaning back on his hands and looking out over the jungle. Wade rumbles something beside him, nuzzling into Peter’s bare, freckled shoulder. Peter smiles and grabs one of Wade’s hands in his, bringing the scarred knuckles up to his lips to brush a light kiss over them. He’s not used to being sappy with partners, but he could get used to this.

Wade’s eyes go positively heart shaped. Peter laughs and turns Wade’s hand over to inspect his palm, tracing his fingers over the scarring, and then pressing his hand to Wade’s to compare their sizes. Wade’s hand is huge, easily eclipsing Peter’s, his palm broad and fingers long and thick. Peter’s fingers hardly reach the second knuckle on Wade’s fingers. 

“You have really nice hands,” Peter murmurs, turning Wade’s hand over to look at the back of it. He blinks when he finds the skin irritated and dry. “Oh, I forgot your coconut oil,” he realizes. “I’ll be right back.”

He swings down through the window of the hut, finds the coconut shell half full of oil and climbs back onto the rooftop. The light has gone pinker, the sun dropping further in the sky as he sits back down beside Wade, his legs folded and the coconut shell placed in the space between his thighs. “Come here, big boy.”

Wade holds his hands out, looking pleased at the prospect of a hand massage, and chatters happily as Peter smooths oil over his fingers and hands, moisturizing his dry, reddened scars. Peter’s too busy making sure he gets every inch of Wade’s skin that he doesn’t see the sly, considering look Wade gives the coconut oil sitting between Peter’s legs. 

When Peter goes back to get another scoop of oil he squeaks in surprise, suddenly finding himself on his back in the furs, Wade hovering over him with a lecherous look on his face. 

“Wade,” Peter says suspiciously, watching the man place the oil next to them and dip his fingers into it. “What are you-  _ eek!” _ Wade’s hand shoots up under his leaf skirt, grabbing Peter’s dick in a slippery grip. Peter’s cock, already hardening from the second that Wade had him on his back, picks up the pace immediately, filling out in Wade’s palm to full hardness so quickly that Peter almost gets dizzy.

“Mm,” Peter moans, spreading his legs willingly. He’s not opposed to this, at all. Wade grins and leans down to kiss him and Peter meets him halfway, wrapping his arms around Wade’s broad shoulders, opening his mouth as Wade licks between his lips. 

Wade braces himself on Peter’s chest with one hand, his other busy down between Peter’s thighs, dragging his slippery hand slowly, teasingly up Peter’s cock. Peter squirms and then gasps as Wade thumbs over his nipple, fiddling with the pink peak until it hardens.

Wade kisses down his neck, sucking stinging lovebites into his throat, making up for the ones that are healing from the morning. Then he captures Peter’s other nipple in his mouth, licking over the sensitive flesh roughly and then tugging at it with his teeth. Peter whines, hips squirming as Wade’s hand begins to speed up on his dick, stroking firmly from the base to the head, the coconut oil easing the way and making Peter’s toes curl from how good it feels. 

Wanting to make Wade feel good as well, Peter fumbles to the side, spilling a bit of oil as he locates the halved coconut shell and clumsily coats his hand in it. Then he reaches down between their bodies and finds Wade’s cock, heavy and erect between his powerful thighs, poking out from under his leaf skirt. 

Both Peter and Wade groan together as Peter wraps his hand around Wade’s cock, the length of it hot and pulsing in his grip, the scars running against Peter’s skin as he drags his hand slowly up the impressive shaft. Wade’s hand stills on Peter’s cock, his hips twitching, a strangled sound grating out from his throat as Peter caresses the head of his dick.

“You’re so big,” Peter breathes, biting his lip. Wade is easily the biggest he’s ever felt, or seen. Wade’s cock is almost unreal, something out of a porno. Peter doesn’t even know if it’s going to fit inside of him, but goddamn he’s going to try. He moans at the thought, tightening his hold on Wade’s dick, looking down between them to see his fingers wrapped around it, the size of it making his hand look tiny. The head of it is angry and red, full of blood, a glob of precum forming at the tip. Peter licks his lips at the sight of it. God, it’s been  _ so  _ long since he’s gotten properly railed. He doesn’t remember being this hungry for cock, but two years of nothing but jerking off will do that to a guy.

Wade makes another strangled sound, reaching down to grab Peter’s hand away from his dick and slamming it onto the wood underneath them, panting heavily. Peter blinks, mouth falling open as he looks up at Wade’s face. The man’s expression is almost pained, his shoulders shaking, his teeth so deep in his own lip that he’s almost drawing blood.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter rambles, terrified that he’s done something wrong. “I didn’t mean- did I hurt you? Wade?” He reaches up with his free hand and then gasps as Wade grabs that one as well, pinning it down beside his head and growling low in his throat at him.

Wide-eyed, Peter stares up at him. Wade’s face is intense, his eyes dark and glittering as they look down at him, his lips pressed tightly together. He breathes in slowly through his nose and then back out again, his shoulders no longer trembling. Peter suddenly realises that he hadn’t hurt Wade, the man was only trying to get himself back under control again.

“Oh,” Peter says, feeling his stomach clench with arousal at the thought of Wade needing to control himself around him. “You don’t need to do that,” he says, even though he knows Wade can’t understand him. “I can take anything you wanna give me,” he breathes, looking up from under his eyelashes at the man, wrapping his legs around Wade’s strong waist. “I  _ want  _ everything you wanna give me.”

Wade growls out another low warning, his grip tightening on Peter’s wrists. Peter moans at the ache of it, his cock dribbling another glob of precum. He hopes Wade leaves bruises. “Wade,  _ please,” _ he pleads, arching his back and rubbing himself up against the broadly muscled width of Wade’s body.  _ “Please.” _

Wade squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and Peter waits, holding his breath. When Wade opens his eyes again there’s no hesitancy in his gaze, the weight of it heavy and dark with promise. Peter stares up at him, caught in the intensity of it, mouth dropped open, completely engrossed by the man above him.

Wade moves both of Peter’s hands above Peter’s head, holding them there easily with one broad hand around both of his wrists, every movement slow and deliberate. With his other hand he reaches down and rips Peter’s leaf skirt away and then his own, tossing them off the roof, his muscles shifting mesmerizingly under his scarred skin. Peter’s breathing picks up in anticipation as Wade dips his fingers in the oil and slips them between Peter’s thighs, his gaze holding Peter’s the entire time.

Fingers slide down over his cock and Peter whimpers, hips twitching, but they don’t stop there. They leave an oily trail down his shaft and over his balls, and then press oh so gently against the clench of his hole.

Peter bucks at the feeling, but Wade holds him down fast, refusing to let him go far. “Wade,” Peter pants, “oh, fuck, yes,  _ there,” _ he whines, “Wade,  _ please.” _ He wriggles his hips down, trying to get them inside of him, but a slow smile just spreads across Wade’s mouth and he tightens his hold around Peter’s wrists, so tight that Peter knows his skin is going to bloom purple with gorgeous bruises.

Wade circles his fingers, feather light, around Peter’s hole, hardly even touching the pink rim. Peter whimpers at the tease, squirming. “Wade, oh my god, you  _ suck.  _ Just get  _ in  _ me already!” Tears start to form in the corners of his eyes in frustration. 

Wade tilts his head, looking darkly amused. And then he leans down and bites a deep, stinging bite over Peter’s pectoral, sucking roughly and bringing blood to the surface of Peter’s tanned golden skin. Peter quakes as he does, tossing his head back into the furs and keening loudly to the pink and orange sky, toes curling. 

Wade bites another mark, and then another, going back to Peter’s nipple and worrying it with his teeth until it’s sore and swollen and red, rubbing his fingers up against Peter’s fluttering hole, rumbling a pleased sound in his throat as Peter moans and squirms and gasps underneath him. The tears finally spill over, dripping down the sides of Peter’s flushed red cheeks as Peter sobs. He can’t take this. He’s  _ throbbing  _ between his thighs, leaking precum all over himself, and all the bites Wade has left over him sting deliciously, all his nerve endings singing with pleasure. 

“I can’t,” he whimpers, tossing his head. “I can’t, Wade, please, something, anything, gimme- gimme anything, I can’t take this, oh my god, I’m gonna die,  _ please, please, please-” _

Wade swallows his babbling pleads with his mouth, plundering Peter’s until Peter’s breathless with it, lungs straining for air. And then as soon as Wade pulls back and Peter thinks he can finally breathe, Wade sinks the first finger into him right down to the knuckle.

Peter’s back arches and he grits his teeth, whining behind them. “Fuck,” he pants,  _ “fuck.” _ Wade’s finger feels huge inside of him, it’s been so long since he’s had something in him other than his own fingers, and Wade’s are a lot bigger than his. 

Wade gives him a second to adjust, nosing under his chin and rumbling quietly, until Peter remembers to breathe and stop clenching so tight. His body relaxes and Wade presses a sweet kiss on his skin before pulling his finger out an inch and sinking it back into him. Peter moans, letting his thighs fall wider, his toes curling in pleasure.

Wade fucks him gently with his finger for a while, loosening him up a little, before pulling back to re-lube his fingers with oil and pressing two fingers up against him. Peter breathes out and lets them both in, whining as he’s filled. “Yes,” he sighs, rolling his hips into them, his stomach curling with heat. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s so good, Wade, mm.”

Wade grunts, licking over his chin and then nibbling at his flushed ear. Peter moans and turns his head, capturing Wade’s mouth with his, kissing him deeply. He curls his fingers into his palms from where Wade’s still holding his hands above his head, panting as Wade scissors his thick fingers in him, stretching the tightness of his rim out. 

“Another one, please,” Peter begs as Wade pulls back from the kiss. “I can take it. I want it, please-  _ uh-” _ Another finger sinks into him, the stretch of it sweet, his cock dripping precum constantly now. It hurts a little but the amount of oil Wade’s scooped onto his fingers helps ease the way, and Peter’s not averse to a bit of pain. It helps make the pleasure even more pronounced. 

Wade takes his time with three fingers as well, mouthing down to Peter’s nipples again until Peter’s trying to squirm away from his mouth, his nipples beyond oversensitive. “Wade,” he whines, “no more, please, just  _ fuck me already, come on!” _

Wade tuts at his impatient tone, thrusting his fingers deep in retaliation and making Peter cry out. And, Peter swears just to spite him, presses a  _ fourth  _ finger up against Peter’s hole.

Peter clenches, yelping. Wade raises a hairless eyebrow at him, crooking the fingers already in Peter’s ass a bit and pressing up against Peter’s sweet spot. Peter’s head thunks back and he lets out a breathy moan, his cock jumping between his thighs. “Oh fuck,” he whimpers, “shit, Wade, oh my god.” The fourth finger slips into him, the width of them all pressing up against his walls tightly. He swears he can feel every ridge of every scar on Wade’s hands inside of him. 

Four fingers is a  _ lot.  _ Peter pants through it, trembling, Wade coos down at him, eyes gentle, and then begins to pump them as Peter shakes. Peter knows that it’s probably because Wade’s huge cock isn’t going to fit inside him without some heavy duty stretching, and it feels really fucking good, it does, but it’s just so much and he feels like he’s about to come, his cock so hard it hurts, his balls tight and his thighs quivering, and Wade hasn’t even got his cock into him yet. It feels like Wade has been fingering him for  _ hours.  _ He’s so ready.

He grits his teeth, rolling his hips down onto Wade’s fingers. “Wade, come on,” he pants, “don’t you wanna fuck me already? Please, hurry up, I’m gonna burst if you don’t!  _ Wade!” _

But Wade only grins darkly, shoving his fingers as deep as he can get them, his knuckles jamming up against Peter’s ass. Peter whines, eyes clenching shut as he sees stars, and then he wails as Wade finds his prostate again, thrusting relentlessly against it. Peter’s legs go weak and his eyes roll back in his head, and it just takes Wade letting go of his wrists and just touching the head of his cock for Peter to come.

He cries out as he does, scaring birds from the tree up into the air, his back arching and his vision almost going white with how hard he orgasms. Wade keeps pressure up against his prostate until the last spurt of cum leaves his dick, and then he pulls his fingers out carefully. Peter only vaguely hears Wade rumble down at him, the sound pleased and deep and husky, and only manages to let his jaw go slack to let Wade’s tongue in when the man kisses him. 

Peter slowly regains coherent thought, fluttering his eyes open when he feels Wade grab both of his legs up and spread them, hitching Peter’s hips up and onto his own thighs, hooking Peter’s knees over his wide shoulders. Peter moans weakly, his body limp and useless, pliable in Wade’s hands. He watches with dazed eyes as Wade lubes his cock with more oil, grunting as he jerks his cock a couple times, his palm making slick sounds against his dick.

And then Wade is pressing the head of his cock against Peter’s hole, and even though Peter’s been stretched out with four fingers and he’s relaxed from one of the strongest orgasms he’s ever experienced, it still feels impossibly huge. 

Wade grips his hips in his hands, and instead of thrusting forwards, he pulls Peter closer and slowly impales him on his cock. 

Peter’s mouth falls open soundlessly, all the breath leaving his lungs as Wade sinks an inch into him. Wade groans, fingers clutching at Peter’s hips, pressing bruises into his hipbones as he pauses, chest heaving as he squeezes his eyes shut. 

It feels like he’s being split open. Peter’s hands scramble for a hold in the furs underneath him, needing to ground himself, and he ends up clutching at Wade’s wrists, desperately holding on. 

Wade sinks another inch into him, pulling Peter slowly onto his dick, Peter’s back arching and his head tipping back, a strangled sound making its way out of his throat. It continues like that, Wade sinking inch by inch into Peter’s tight heat, stopping every few seconds to let Peter adjust to his size, chest heaving and arms shaking with the effort to hold himself back, massive biceps bulging and veins corded starkly underneath his scars. 

Finally, Wade bottoms out, his heavy balls resting against the curve of Peter’s ass. He pants as he rests there, brow severe, looking down at Peter trembling beneath him, colour high on his cheeks. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Peter chants hoarsely. He’s never been so full in his life. He’s been pushed to the very edge of his limit, his rim stretched tight around the thick base of Wade’s cock, throbbing with the strain. Wade is so deep in him it feels like he’s in Peter’s core, and Peter swears that he can feel Wade’s heartbeat in his cock, pulsing up against his inner walls. “That’s so good- oh my god,  _ shit,  _ holy shit, Wade, fuck me, fuck me,  _ fuck me.” _

Wade grunts, taking a deep breath, and then slowly pushes Peter off of his cock. Peter cries out as it feels like a vacuum is created inside of him, Wade’s scarred cock dragging over his sensitive walls, leaving him woefully empty. He clenches down, trying to keep all that wonderful thickness inside of him, but Wade keeps pushing him off until just the tip of his cock is left in Peter’s body. 

“Ooooooh my god,” Peter gasps as Wade pulls him back onto his dick, the slide easier this time, but still a strain. His cock, only half deflated from his first release, is now fully erect again, resting red and hard against his trembling stomach. Wade groans deeply in response, sounding wrecked, sweat glistening across his forehead. 

They’re not going to last. Sure, Peter just came minutes ago, but Wade’s dick in him, pressing up against all the right spots, is going to have him ready before what he thought was possible. And Wade sounds like he’s on the edge of his control, teeth gritted and expression strained, grip so tight on Peter’s hips that it feels like he’s going to leave an imprint of his hands on Peter’s bones.

“Come on, come on, Wade, please,” Peter manages to say, tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth. Wade pulls him almost all the way off his cock again and then pulls him back, his hips thrusting forward this time as well, getting even deeper inside of Peter, the head of his cock slipping over Peter’s prostate and making Peter’s toes curl. He repeats the movement, faster and faster, until he’s practically bouncing Peter on his cock, his biceps bulging and thick veins standing out on his forearms, his six pack clenched tight as he slams his hips forward.

Peter can’t help but cry out every time he’s impaled, his wails and moans loud and desperate, layered over the sloppy sounds of Wade fucking into his ass. His nails dig into Wade’s wrists and it feels like his legs have gone numb from pleasure, and he’s pretty sure he’s crying again, tears dripping down his flushed cheeks. He can’t even remember to swallow his own saliva, his mouth slack and red from Wade’s kisses, drool running down his chin from the sides of his lips as he focuses completely on rolling his hips with the push and pull of Wade’s hands, his world narrowing down to Wade’s cock splitting him open and the sound of Wade’s low, wrecked moans. 

Wade’s hips begin to stutter, and he garbles something that sounds like a warning, his cock pulsing heavily inside of Peter’s hole. He tries to pull out but Peter gasps,  _ “don’t you fucking dare,” _ and slams his own hips down onto Wade’s cock, crying out as Wade’s cock jams against his prostate. His eyes roll into the back of his head and his entire body goes rigid as he comes just from Wade’s cock fucking him, ass clenching down impossibly tight around Wade’s dick.

Wade groans like he’s dying, hunching down over Peter and sinking teeth into Peter’s bared neck, grinding forward roughly, hips bruising the curve of Peter’s ass. He holds there for a moment, Peter’s hole convulsing around him from the waves of his orgasm, and then his cock pulses and he’s coming with a deep growl. 

As Wade’s cum floods into him Peter moans, his spent cock just managing to spurt one last weak stream of cum onto his stomach. The first few surges of his release had been strong enough to reach up to his chest, splattered over the darkened bite marks Wade has left over his skin. Wade comes in him for what feels like forever, spilling pulse after pulse of hot cum into him, until the man heaves in a breath and collapses over him.

Peter blinks sightlessly up at the now darkening sky, the sun having dipped below the horizon minutes ago. The birds that he’d frightened away with all the noise he’d been making have come back, and they’re chattering happily in the trees, chirping and singing. He can just hear the waterfall in the distance, the sound of monkeys squeaking from far away, the hum of insects closer and more constant. A little green dragonfly comes to rest on Wade’s shoulder, and Peter watches its tiny iridescent wings flap slowly before it takes off again.

Wade stirs from his spot laying over Peter, coming up onto his elbows so he’s not crushing Peter with his larger body. Peter winces as Wade’s cock jostles in his hole. He’s sore, nothing bad, but being impaled on Wade’s crazy thick dick has his hips aching. Wade’s expression falls at Peter’s wince, and he murmurs guiltily, sitting up and easing Peter as gently as he can off of his softening dick.

Peter bites his lip as he feels Wade’s cum drip out of his hole. Wade makes a worried noise and presses chaste kisses all over Peter’s face, his hands running up and down Peter’s sides in an effort to soothe him. 

Squinting against the onslaught of affectionate kisses over his face, Peter grins, turning his head and managing to press his lips to Wade’s, making the man pause and blink.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Peter reassures, hoping his expression and the tone of his voice gets his meaning across. “You just kind of fucked my brains out and I'm really, really not used to that.” 

Wade searches his face for a second, looking for any trace of discomfort on Peter’s face, and when he doesn’t find any he relaxes, the line of his brow smoothing out. He makes a low, happy rumble in his chest and nuzzles against Peter’s cheek with his, pressing all his scars against Peter’s skin. He’s sweaty but Peter’s just as sweaty as him, and they really need to get up and go wash off in the waterfall because Peter’s currently covered in cum and leaking it all over the furs below them, and Wade’s probably got some smeared over himself as well from lying on top of Peter. They’re going to be pretty gross as soon as they cool off. 

But they don’t move for a long while, just happy laying naked in each other’s arms, trading soft kisses as the stars slowly begin to twinkle in the darkening sky. 


	9. fire

The days start to blur together. Sometimes Peter forgets to make a mark on the tree for days at a time, and once for two nights he doesn’t even think of New York. When he realises how long it’s been since he’d pictured May’s smile and Ned’s messy room or MJ’s poetry spread on a cafe table and Mr Stark’s holographic plans for something equally marvellous and almost impossible he has something like a panic attack.

Wade finds him sitting on the sand by the beach in the moonlight, hugging his legs and face buried in his knees, struggling to breathe. Peter curls into his side when the man lowers himself next to him and drapes a warm arm over his shoulders, rumbling something low and comforting. 

There are tears in Peter’s eyes as he wheezes painfully, and Wade tips his face up with gentle fingertips and makes a show of breathing slow and deep. Peter finds himself matching Wade’s breaths, and the awful feeling of sinking down and down begins to fade, but he still shakes.

“It’s been a month,” Peter whispers. “I almost forgot what color May’s eyes are.”

Wade kisses his cheek. 

“I want to go home,” Peter says, curling into Wade’s chest and laying his head on Wade’s collarbone. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that there might not be a home to go back to. That he might never know if there is. 

A shooting star streaks overhead, a temporary flare in the night sky that neither Peter or Wade notice.

~~~

Wade’s speech doesn’t improve. Peter exhausts every possible way of trying to coax a meaningful word out of him, and Wade doesn’t make it easy. The man gets easily frustrated, or distracted, and Peter ends up with far more lovebites than measurable progress. No more strange mysteries like that metal box are uncovered on the island, even when Peter thoroughly scours the entire thing, and Wade’s origin remains a big fat question mark in Peter’s head. 

It’s like Peter is in limbo. Floating around in a tropical paradise, not knowing who his only companion really is, not knowing if his family is safe, if the world even exists anymore outside of this warm, humid bubble, only sharing heated kisses with Wade and eating mangos and cooked fish and swimming by the waterfall.

Peter doesn’t want to get used to a frustratingly unchanging existence, but day by day, he does. He swears if Wade wasn’t here with him, he would have gone crazy a long time ago. 

~~~

Pick up sticks is their latest way of passing the time. Peter swears Wade is cheating somehow, because the last six rounds have ended up with Peter losing miserably. 

“That’s it,” Peter huffs as Wade cleans up the rest of the sticks from the pile for a seventh time. “I refuse to play anymore. You’re a scoundrel and a cheat and I hate you.” He crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.

Wade laughs at his face. Then he coos and crawls over to where Peter is having a dramatic moment, tickling his sides.

“Go away!” Peter shrieks, but he only playfully pushes Wade away, giving in easily as Wade tips him over onto his back on the forest floor. Wade grins down at him and digs his fingers into Peter’s sensitive ribs and armpits and Peter squirms and yelps and laughs and then wraps his arms around Wade’s shoulders when the man’s eyes go warm and soft.

“Fine, I’ll forgive you, but just this once,” Peter says as Wade leans down to kiss him. Now instead of tickling him Wade’s hands hold him securely around the waist and then trail down between Peter’s thighs. Peter lets his legs fall open and his head thump back as he gazes up at the bright blue sky peeking through the canopy above them. God, he’s so easy, he should be ashamed, but then Wade is kissing down his stomach and most thoughts just melt away into a pleasurable haze. 

The first flash of light Peter hardly notices, Wade pulling his hair is too distracting. The second catches his attention but then his orgasm wrenches it away again, and then it’s Wade’s pleasure on his mind and his eyes aren’t directed to the sky. But then when they’re lying side by side and catching their breaths, Peter finally sees a flare of light through the leaves, and his attention catches and sticks.

“What was that?” He murmurs, sitting up. Wade makes a curious noise as Peter peers up to the sky, and then frowns as another bright flash of light shows. This time Wade makes a surprised sound as well and it takes only seconds for Peter to let Wade climb onto his back and take to the trees. They emerge out on a high branch above the canopy, jaws dropped.

Hundreds of bright, burning balls of light are slowly making their way across the sky. Bright orange, they turn the midday sky into an artificial sunset. Peter’s spidey-sense tingles at his periphery, and he wraps his arms around himself, feeling his heartbeat pick up and the hair on his body stand on end. Something is happening, he just doesn’t know what.

He leaves Wade leaning against the thick trunk and steps out further, eyes spotting a massive burning red flare beginning its journey over the horizon. It’s huge, easily ten times the size of every other comet, and Peter shivers as he watches it. It burns a sinister deep red, almost black at its core.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. Wade makes a noise behind him, and Peter turns to look at him just as Wade slips.

Wade’s eyes go wide and Peter’s heart plummets. Thoughts flash through his mind like bullets; he’s too far away, he won’t reach Wade in time, they’re so far up, the ground so far down, he doesn’t have his webs, Wade is going to fall. 

Peter dives forward. “Wade!” But Wade’s already gone. 

Peter throws himself off the branch after him, not even thinking, his vision narrowing and blood thumping through his ears. He strains himself as hard as he can, but it only takes seconds. Wade crashes through a layer of canopy and then hits the ground with an awful sound.

And then he’s still.

Peter lands next to him clumsily a moment later, face pale. “Wade?” He whispers. “Oh god, please.”

Blood seeps through the dead leaves towards Peter’s bare feet. Wade’s eyes stare sightlessly up, his limbs sprawled unnaturally around his body. 

“No,” Peter says. His vision is blurring and he feels like he’s going to throw up. This isn’t happening- Wade is- he can’t be- he had just been  _ right there.  _

Something is squirming in the mess of blood and brain and bone fragments spread around Wade’s head like a halo, something metallic and unnatural, sharp tiny legs dragging itself back into what’s left of the back of Wade’s skull. Peter does vomit, sobbing as he clutches his stomach. 

And then Wade is twitching. Small cracks of bone and terrible wet sounds of flesh regrowing fill the silence, and Peter watches with wide eyes as Wade’s still chest suddenly stutters and fills with breath, and Wade groans and rolls over onto his side.

“Wade?” Peter whispers.

Wade’s eyes find him, bright and brown and full of life, nothing like the awful death stare from before. 

“You were just very dead,” Peter croaks. Is he hallucinating? Fuck, he’s completely lost it, hasn’t he?

Wade makes a quiet, pained sound at the distress on Peter’s tear stained face. He drags himself to where Peter is sitting dumbly, limbs not quite working properly, and touches Peter’s hand.

His touch is warm and real, and leaves a streak of blood over Peter’s skin. 

“Oh,” Peter says, and holds Wade’s face in his trembling hands. “Right, you can come back to life. That’s- that’s good. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” 

Wade cocks his head, frowning. He looks worried, and as he tries to speak his noises are more slurred than before. Peter’s pulse spikes in alarm and he carefully feels over the back of Wade’s head, fingers slipping through blood and  _ other  _ things Peter doesn’t want to name, but everything feels like normal, even if the bumps and dips of Wade’s scars feel more raw than usual.

“You’re alive,” Peter says, feeling kind of numb with shock. “Don’t you- don’t you dare do that again,” he says, and he’s beginning to shake all over now. “Oh god, are you okay?”

Wade looks pale under all his scars, and it looks like he can’t quite control all his limbs; he’s twitching, and moving sluggishly. He smiles weakly at Peter, trying to reassure him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t feel quite right. Which isn’t surprising, because he’d just been  _ dead  _ a minute ago.

Peter takes a deep breath. He gives Wade a quick, tight hug, uncaring that blood gets smeared over him, and then helps him to his feet. Everything still feels off kilter; like everything happened in a rush and Peter hasn’t processed everything yet, and there are so many things that are left unanswered, but all he can do is brace Wade against his side and walk him to the waterfall to clean him up.

~~~

The lights are gone from the sky by the time Wade’s clean and almost back to his old self, splashing around in the pool and chirping happily at Peter. Peter grins back at him, loose limbed with relief at the pools edge at the fact that Wade’s untimely fall to his death and then timely resurrection hasn’t seemed to have damaged him at all.

He’s relieved, yes, unmeasurably so, but now there are more questions and no answers to be found. What were those comets in the sky, so unnaturally bright and numerous? What was that thing in Wade’s head? Has Wade always been able to come back to life? Peter’s head spins with it all.

Wade swims towards him and comes to settle between Peter’s legs dangling in the water. He’s frowning as he looks up at Peter’s face, chattering worriedly. 

Peter blinks down at him, cupping the back of Wade’s head to reassure himself that everything is still healed and whole. “Hey,” he mutters, leaning down to seal his mouth to Wade’s.

Some kind of tension leaves Wade’s body and the man yelps as Peter hauls him out of the water and lays him down on his back on the rock, crawling over him and curling up on his damp chest. Wade’s heart thumps strong and loud against Peter’s ear and he closes his eyes, humming as Wade’s hand cards through his messy curls.

Everything feels like it’s slipping out of Peter’s grasp, but it’s not like Peter had a hold on anything in the first place. It’s okay though, at least Wade is here, whole and happy and alive.

~~~

That night more fiery balls of light parade their way across the sky, outshining the stars and turning it bright enough to almost be day. Peter and Wade watch the spectacle silently on top of the tree hut, Peter planted squarely in Wade’s lap, both of them far from the edge and the sharp drop to the ground. Just because Wade will come back to life doesn’t mean that Peter’s okay with him dying; it had been a harrowing experience for him, and Wade had definitely not enjoyed it either, judging from how shaky he’d been afterwards. And, well, Peter can’t help but be paranoid. What if Wade has a limited number of lives left?

The lights fade a few hours from dawn and don’t reappear. They sit watching the night sky until the sun rises, and then crawl back inside to wrap around each other in the furs. They sleep until noon.

~~~

It feels like something should change after the light show in the sky, but nothing does. The sun still rises and the temperature is still high and the air still humid, and the monkeys still swing in the trees and Wade still smiles just as bright, his kisses just as strong and his body just as warm and solid. The waves still break against the beach and the crabs still crawl in the sand and the bananas still grow and coconut water still tastes sweet in Peter’s mouth.

Everything stays the same, until the next morning, Peter wakes up to the sound of engines and a voice calling his name.


	10. goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as the FRIDAY PLAY JUNGLE SOUNDS chapter

Peter stares up at the vines creeping over the ceiling of the treehut. Is he hearing things? Has he finally lost it?

There’s a low hum of high powered jet engines layered under the normal buzz and bustle of the jungle. Beside him Wade snores, snuffling in his sleep. 

The humming of the engines fade. Peter stays staring upwards, unblinking, straining his ears.

And then,  _ “Peter?!”  _

Peter sits up ramrod straight, eyes wild and heart pounding. Was that-?  _ Was it?  _

_ “Peter? Where are you?”  _

Peter scrambles up and out of the furs and is out of the window in a shot, leaving Wade behind, still asleep and dreaming. He flies through the jungle, leaping from branch to branch, trying not to hope but failing as the voice grows louder and louder and his heart pounds faster and faster.

And then he’s landing at the tree line that gives way to the golden sands of the beach, and a quinjet is sitting quietly in the shallow surf, battered and dirty and damaged, its ramp lowered into wet sand. And Mr Stark is standing on the beach, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouts.

_ “Peter!”  _

“I’m here,” Peter croaks, the words hardly making a sound as they fall from his lips. He clears his throat and steps forward out of the shade of the trees, “I’m here!”

And then he’s running and Mr Stark is staring at him, grinning wide, and then Peter’s throwing himself forward and Mr Stark is hugging him and Peter might be crying, okay he’s definitely crying, but Mr Stark’s eyes aren’t entirely dry either so it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

“Christ, kid, you’re okay,” Mr Stark says, pulling back and inspecting Peter’s face. 

Peter sniffs, hiccuping through his smile. “I’m okay. And you- you’re okay? And May? How’s she? And Happy- and my friends, and New York and the- the aliens? What’s happening-”

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Mr Stark chuckles. “Everyone’s fine, they’re all back in New York, well, what’s left of it anyway.”

Peter relaxes, more tears coming but it’s okay, everyone is fine,  _ everyone is okay.  _ Peter’s legs go weak and Mr Stark helps him sit in the sand as Peter’s breathing speeds up and he shakes through another breathless anxiety attack, but Mr Stark is calm and steady through it and helps him breathe, patting his back as Peter puts his head between his legs and closes his eyes and just cries. 

“Hey, you okay now?” Mr Stark says and Peter nods, wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. He’s gotten over the embarrassment of crying in front of Mr Stark a long time ago; especially after witnessing one of Mr Stark’s panic attacks himself and helping the man through one too. 

“I’m so relieved,” Peter smiles, and that’s a bit of an understatement but let him off the hook, okay? It’s such big news. “The aliens? You guys beat them?”

“Hell yeah we did,” Mr Stark says. “Took a month and the entirety of what was left of the country’s power grid, my big genius brain and some serious working on the fly, but we did it. Burnt ‘em right out of the sky, the fuckers.”

“Good,” Peter says, realising what those burning balls of light from the night before were. “Good.”

“Nice skirt, by the way,” Mr Stark grins, and Peter’s face burns. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters. “It was better than walking around naked.”

Mr Stark’s face screws up. “Yeah. Oh, uh, Pete, talking about lack of clothing, why is there a big, half naked scary man staring at us from the jungle?” 

Peter looks over his shoulder and spots Wade standing awkwardly at the tree line, half in the shade and half in the sun, his brown eyes glinting. He’s staring at the quinjet like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Oh,” Peter says, standing. “That’s just- that’s Wade.”

Mr Stark stands and grabs Peter’s wrist before he can walk towards Wade. “Is he safe?”

Peter gives him a weird look. “Of course he is.” He shakes his arm out of Mr Stark’s hold and jogs up to Wade, smiling. 

“We’re rescued!” He exclaims happily as he throws himself into Wade’s arms. Wade lifts him up and gives him a kiss, and Peter ignores the strangled sound Mr Stark makes behind them. 

“It’s Mr Stark! He’s come to get me- get us! Everyone back home is safe, the aliens are gone, we can go back  _ home.”  _ Peter almost feels like crying again, but he’s had enough of that. Only smiles from now on.

Wade doesn’t know what he’s saying but he reacts to Peter’s enthusiasm and joy, grinning and peppering Peter’s face with more kisses, spinning him around a few times as Peter laughs. When he sets Peter back on his feet Peter takes him by the hand and practically drags him through the sand to Mr Stark.

“This is Wade,” Peter says, “he found me after the Avenjet crashed and I washed up here. He’s the reason I didn’t go completely coconuts.”

“Right,” Mr Stark says slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, I guess?” He looks between Peter and Wade, at their still joint hands, and then looks Wade over dubiously. 

Wade chirps in reply, garbling jibberish. He points at Mr Stark and then at the quinjet, and goes quiet, staring at it. Peter squeezes his hand.

“Uh,” Mr Stark says, “Pete, I don’t speak crazy.”

“Wade’s not crazy,” Peter says, frowning. “He just can’t talk. He’s just been here a really long time, I think. I have no idea where he came from. But I was super lucky he was here otherwise you probably would’ve found bones on this beach instead of me.”

Mr Stark goes a little pale. He clears his throat. “Good thing big, scarred and perky was here then. So, not that I don’t like a remote tropical island every now and then, but you wanna get going? May’s tearing her hair out over you and your Aunt will  _ not  _ be as attractive and ravishing bald-”

“First of all, ew,” Peter says, making a face. “Second of all, no. Stop perving on my Aunt, that’s gross. Third of all, um, do you mind if I go grab some stuff first? It won’t take long.” 

Mr Stark gives him a strange look, but shrugs. “Sure thing, kid. I’ll wait here for you.”

“Cool, thanks!” Peter pulls Wade with him, and they walk through the trees. Peter pauses at the base of the tree with the tree hut, turning to Wade. 

“Uh, I don’t know how to get this across…”

Wade cocks his head, smiling. His eyes look a little misty. He shrugs, pointing to Peter and then over his shoulder, to where they’d come from. Then he tentatively points to himself, his eyebrows raising in a question. He looks almost scared.

Peter’s mouth drops open a little. “Of course-” He starts, high pitched, and then coughs, starting again quieter and at a normal pitch. “Of course you’re coming with us! I would never want to leave you behind!” He goes up on his tippy-toes, slinging his arms around Wade’s shoulders and pressing a kiss underneath his chin. 

Wade rumbles happily, squeezing him around his waist. And then they’re kissing, and Wade’s noises turn interested and his hands start to wander, and Peter’s automatically giving in without a thought before he remembers that Mr Stark is waiting on the beach to take him  _ home,  _ and they don’t have time to get down and dirty.

“Wade,” Peter laughs, wriggling out of Wade’s arm as the man pouts. “No, come on, I gotta get something. Um, do you want anything?”

Wade blinks at him and Peter sighs. “Okay, wait here.” He clambers up quickly and easily locates the flower that Wade had given him that one night when he’d been bummed out, dried and pressed between two small flat pieces of wood. He grabs it and wraps it in a small fur, before pausing as he slips out the floor onto the ladder.

He looks around one last time. At the vines dotted with small bright flowers climbing the walls, the mess of furs in the corner that makes him blush thinking about what he and Wade got up to in them, the low table full of fruits and fish and other uneaten food, the discarded coconut shells on the floor and the slowly spinning stones hanging from the ceiling. He closes his eyes and breathes in, sighing at the familiar bright green and woody smell of the place, the scent of Wade and him mixed underneath. The birds chips and sing outside, he can hear the screeching of the monkeys as they play in the treetops, the buzzing of insects and the wind in the trees. The quiet white noise of the waterfall still steadily rumbles in the distance, and beyond he can just hear the ocean.

Wade makes a sound on the ground, looking up at him questioningly. Peter smiles down at him. Strange, that he would’ve given so much to get off this island, but now that he’s leaving it, he thinks he’s going to miss it.

“Coming!” He calls down.

~~~

Wade’s eyes are huge as they walk up the ramp to the quinjet. Peter leads him up patiently, Mr Stark already at the controls and fiddling with them. 

Wade looks like he doesn’t quite believe what’s happening. His palm is sweaty in Peter’s hold and he’s quiet, the quietest Peter has ever seen him. 

“Kind of doesn’t feel real, does it?” Peter says to him. He’s feeling that too. 

“Hey, you guys coming or what?” Mr Stark calls down to them.

“Just a minute!” Peter calls back, eyes still on Wade’s face. Wade looks at him, and he looks terrified.

“Everything’s fine,” Peter says soothingly, kissing Wade’s knuckles. “We’re going home.”

Wade’s eyes are filling with tears, and he hugs Peter close to him, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Peter whispers, patting Wade’s trembling back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

They take a seat on one of the long couches lining the sides of the jet. Mr Stark gives them a little privacy as they take off, not saying a word, his eyes on the controls and windshield even though Peter knows that everything can just be put on autopilot.

Curled up on Wade’s lap, Peter props his chin on Wade’s shoulder, hand placed loosely around the back of Wade’s head. He watches the island fade from view out of the small window next to them, until the tiny green speck becomes one with the blue. Then he turns away from it, joining Wade in looking forward, towards New York and home.

~~~

The flight will take about 10 hours. Mr Stark gives Peter a change of clothes but doesn’t have any that will come anywhere near fitting Wade, not that Wade minds. It feels strange wearing proper clothes, Peter finds, his jeans feel constricting and shoes too tight, and he’s always aware of his shirt brushing up against him in ways that he never was before, but it’s nice that Mr Stark had brought him some of his own clothes from New York. The nerdy slogan across the front of his shirt makes him smile.

Wade pouts when Peter’s fully covered up, and Peter spends quite a lot of the time fending off Wade trying to unbutton his jeans or slip his shirt off, much to Mr Stark’s horror, but Peter just laughs and tussles Wade off of him. 

“I’m sorry it took so long to find you,” Mr Stark says after one such moment. Wade’s content just playing with Peter’s hair, so Peter’s clothes are safe for the time being. “Fighting off those outer space squid monsters took all of our resources and time, and I wanted to come and get you, trust me, hell, we all did, but we couldn’t and all we could do was hope that you were fine and-”

Now that Peter’s looking, Mr Stark looks older. Tired. There are lines on his face that weren’t there before, and his shoulders slope just that much more, his eyes a little darker, his hair a little greyer. There’s regret in his expression, and guilt, that Peter hates seeing. 

“It’s okay,” Peter interrupts. “It really is. I understand. I really do, there’s no need to apologize. And I’m fine and the aliens are gone and you came and found me, so everything’s worked out. Everything’s good, Mr Stark, really.”

Mr Stark runs a hand over his face. He’s quiet for a while, and then he says, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Tony, kid? We’ve known each other for years.”

“As many times as I’ve told you to stop calling me kid, Mr Stark,” Peter grins. 

Mr Stark snorts. “Touché.”

And then Wade is tugging at the hem of Peter’s shirt, lips quirked up mischievously, and Mr Stark is groaning and Peter’s laughing and the Quinjet flies on.

~~~

New York is a sad sight to see.

Peter stands next to Mr Stark in the pilot chair, lips pressed together. Wade stands at his side, an arm wrapped around his waist, also silent. 

Hardly half of the city is still standing. It’s in ruins, small fires still burning, dust and smoke and rubble everywhere. Not a single skyscraper remains, only smaller buildings have partly escaped the destruction, and most of the roads and city parks have been completely destroyed. 

“We were the worst hit,” Mr Stark says quietly. “But we managed to evacuate the majority of the population in time before they broke through our defences.”

Peter can’t respond. If he tries to, he knows he’ll cry. This is his city, his home, destroyed. At least people managed to escape, but he’d loved this place, had worked hard to protect it, and now it’s mostly gone. 

“Everyone’s at the Avengers Compound,” Mr Stark says, turning the quinjet. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

~~~

“Peter! Peter!”

May’s in front of the horde of people running out onto the field as the quinjet lands, long hair streaming behind her and face ecstatic. Peter’s out and on the grass before the ramp fully lowers and they collide within seconds. 

“Oh my god, Peter,” May says into his hair, and she’s making it damp with her tears but Peter doesn’t mind at all. He thought he’d been done with crying, but he’s making her shirt damp as well. They’re hugging for all of a moment alone before they’re bombarded with Ned and MJ and Happy and Shuri as well, and then it’s a free for all dogpile. 

Peter ends up on his back, hardly able to breathe from the press of bodies and relieved and happy words, but he’s laughing with what air he can get. Oh god, he’s missed everyone so much.  _ So, so much.  _

“Look at you,” May says when everyone manages to get upright. She cups his face in her palms, squishing his cheeks together. “You’re so tan! And freckly! And you’ve gotten so thin!”

May’s gotten thinner as well. There’s almost a gaunt look to her face, and dark shadows under her eyes that Peter has never seen before. Happy’s missing an ear, and MJ has a scar across her cheek and through her eyebrow that makes her look badass. Ned’s thinner, wrist in a cast, but beaming at Peter as he babbles everything that has happened in the past month. But even though everyone looks more haggard, older, they all have huge grins on their faces.

“I’m so happy that everyone is okay,” Peter says, brushing away the wetness on his cheeks. “I’m so happy.”

~~~

Introducing Wade is quick and easy. Everyone welcomes him with open arms as soon as Peter explains that Wade saved him, and there’s hardly an eyelash battered at his scarred skin and inability to understand language. May gives him a massive hug and Wade looks so surprised that Peter can’t help but giggle to himself. He feels like he’s going to explode with happiness, seeing everyone again. 

Inside Steve gives Peter a welcome home hug, and even Bucky gives him a pat on the shoulder as Sam ruffles his hair, giving him a hard time about his tan and freckles. The rest of the Avengers are there as well, Natasha and Clint grinning at him and Dr Banner and Wanda and Vision all telling him how happy they are that he’s back safe and sound. Thor, they explain, is off world making sure the aliens are staying gone, but they say that he’s also very happy that Peter’s been found safe and sound.

The Avengers compound is bustling with people and activity, full of heroes and civilians alike as it had become a base during the attack, and even though Peter’s beyond overjoyed to see everyone, the overflowing emotions start to wear on him, and it’s obvious when Wade’s grin begins to slip that he’s becoming overwhelmed. It’s a miracle that he’s coping so well, to be honest. He’s gone  _ years  _ without human contact, and Peter’s cracking only from a month alone with Wade.

It’s Natasha that finally pulls him aside, smiling at his relieved expression. “I’ll show you to your room,” she says, and then eyes Wade hovering behind Peter. “I’ll show you both to your room,” she corrects, gaze knowing. Peter goes pink and stutters, but Natasha just laughs. 

~~~

“Here, May is on the right, and Ned and MJ are across from you,” Natasha says, flicking on the light. The room is small but cosy, and the bed is probably just big enough for both Peter and Wade to fit. 

“Thank you,” Peter says as Wade throws himself on the mattress, groaning happily. “I didn’t really know how to just… leave.”

Natasha’s leaning up against the doorframe, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it. I know it can be hard with so many people after you’ve been alone for a long time. Don’t feel guilty about it, it’s the worst thing you can do. Come out when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Peter says again. 

“It is good to see you safe,” Natasha says, shifting on her feet. “If you need someone to talk to- I might not be the best, but I’m a good listener.”

“I- thanks,” Peter replies, happily surprised at the offer. Natasha closes the door behind her. Peter lets out a relieved sigh at the quiet and then jumps, squeaking as arms wrap around his middle and Wade nuzzles his face into his shoulder.

“How the hell do you keep sneaking up on me like that?” Peter turns around in Wade’s arms, snuggling in close and breathing in Wade’s familiar, calming scent. Wade rumbles happily at him and then is lifting him off his feet, walking him over to the bed and placing him down on the blankets, climbing in after him. 

They curl up together, Wade a big spoon to Peter’s little spoon, breathing slow into his hair. Now that they’re alone and in the quiet, Peter can feel the trembling in Wade’s limbs. He wriggles around to face Wade, looking into his unsure face. 

“Oh, Wade,” Peter whispers, heart aching. Maybe Wade hasn’t been doing as well as he thought. He wants to kick himself for not paying better attention to his lover. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told everyone to back off more, give you some space.” He takes Wade’s big hands in his, kissing over his knuckles. 

Wade smiles weakly at him and pulls him closer, burying his face into Peter’s shoulder again. Peter strokes his bald head, humming quietly under his breath. “FRIDAY?” He whispers, wondering.

“Yes, Peter?” The reply comes quickly. Peter smiles. 

“Can you play jungle sounds, quietly?” 

“Of course.”


	11. found

Peter wakes drowsy and warm, the sound of light rain and insects buzzing quiet in the background, Wade’s familiar snoring in his ear. For a second he’s confused, but when he opens his eyes it’s a ceiling he sees, not wood and creeping vines, and his momentary panic subsides.

There’s another knock on his door, the first must’ve been what had woken him. “ _ Peter?”  _

It’s Aunt May. Peter untangles himself from Wade’s octopus limbs and stumbles to the door, opening it as he rubs at his eyes. May smiles at him as he leans in and gives her a hug, breathing in her familiar perfume. 

“You disappeared,” she says.

“I got overwhelmed,” Peter explains. “I’m sorry. And Wade; he’s not used to so many people. I didn’t mean to just- go, but-”

“Hey, it’s cool kiddo, I get it,” May says. “Don’t need to explain yourself. I’m just happy you’re here, and safe.” She ruffles his hair, and god, Peter had missed her so much. “Dinner’s happening in a bit. The main hall has been converted into a mess cafe type of thing, but it can be pretty loud. Did you want to eat in Tony’s lab? He usually eats in there with Happy and me.”

Peter lets out a breath of relief. “That would be great, thanks.”

“No worries,” May says. “I’ll go grab some food, enlist Ned and MJ to help carry some as well. See you soon, hun. You and your man. Oh! I bought some clothes for him, even though it’s not a bad sight seeing him in a leaf skirt. I hope they fit over all those muscles.”

Peter goes pink and he splutters, accepting the bag May holds out for him. May’s grin widens. “You can tell me all about him over food.”

Peter looks over his shoulder at Wade still snoring away under their blankets, face still flushed. “There’s not much to tell, to be honest,” he murmurs. “I don’t even know if Wade is his real name. I’m hoping to use Mr Stark’s facial recognition software to see if he pops up, but it’s not going to be much use if he’s not in the system. And he needs a scan, I think there’s something weird in his head that’s causing his language problems. And I don’t know what we’re going to do if there is something; he’s going to need surgery and I don’t know how that’s going to work with his mutations and-”

“Hey, don’t look so scared,” May says, hand on his shoulder. “Things will work out. They always do. The past month proves it.”

Peter’s smile is wobbly. “Yeah. I’m sure they will.”

She kisses him on the cheek and tells him to be in Tony’s lab in half an hour. 

Peter wakes Wade up slowly, stroking over his arm and bald head until Wade stirs and blinks up at him. “Hey, sleepyhead,” Peter says fondly. “Got you some clothes.” He holds up the bag May gave him.

Wade’s face brightens and he rummages through it, face falling when he pulls out a grey hoodie, some underwear and a pair of blue jeans, sticking his tongue out at them. Peter laughs and shakes his head. “You put them on, you get some food.” He mimes getting dressed and then eating, and Wade perks right back up, wriggling out of his leaf skirt and into his new clothes in record time. 

It’s weird to see Wade in proper clothes. Peter looks him over. Wade obviously feels a little weird too; he fiddles with the hem and neckline of his hoodie, fussing. “You’ll get used to it,” Peter says. The clothes don’t fit too bad, but Wade’s shoulders are obviously too big for the hoodie; stretching the material thin over his biceps and the broadness of his chest. His butt looks pretty good in the jeans though. 

Peter pulls Wade out into the hallway, hands linked. “Which way was Mr Stark’s lab again?” he mutters to himself, looking left and right and choosing right. He’s pretty sure it’s this way. The Avengers’ compound had always been a bit of a maze. Well, there’s always FRIDAY if he gets too lost.

They pass a few people walking through the halls as they go, some people giving Wade weird looks that Peter gives weird looks right back. “Assholes,” he mutters to himself, hand tight around Wade’s. 

“Wilson?”

Wade suddenly stops in his tracks. Peter blinks and looks back at him, following his eyeline down the hall to Wolverine walking towards them. “Logan?” Peter says, heart beginning to race. “Do you- do you know Wade?”

Wade makes a high pitched screaming sound and skips towards Logan, whose face is a mask of surprise that quickly falls back into its usual grumpy visage as Wade dances a happy circle around him and then tries to hug him. 

“Still the same as ever,” Logan grumbles, eyebrows twitching as he pushes Wade away from him. “Thought you were dead, Bub. Dunno if I can say it’s good to see you though. Hey, what happened to your voice?” He frowns as Wade garbles gibberish at him. 

“He doesn’t understand speech,” Peter says, eyes huge. “You know- you know him? Wilson, you said?”

“Wade Winston Wilson, a complete and utter grade A Canadian idiot,” Logan growls, still fending Wade off. “Fuck, what the hell did Weapon X do to you? You look like shit.”

“Weapon X?” Peter parrots. He almost feels lost. He can’t believe they’ve just stumbled upon someone who knows Wade. He has so many questions, so many things to ask, how, what, who-

He opens his mouth to let out the torrent but Logan holds a finger up, his other arm still fending off a flailing Wade. “Something tells me you have a lot of questions, but first, I need grub.”

“We’re just heading to Mr Stark’s lab for food,” Peter says, “please, come with us?”

Logan sighs. “Fine, kid. Just as long as you get this crazy off me.”

~~~

Peter’s practically vibrating as Logan eats his dinner. He’d been looking forward to real food, but the fries and burger are like an afterthought compared to what Logan can tell him. Who Wade is, why he’s so scarred, how he got on that island in the first place, what the hell is in his head. The list just goes on.

Wade has no problems enjoying the food, however. He scoffs down at least four burgers and a huge plate of fries, and practically cries over the small cup of chocolate ice cream May had scrounged up for dessert. Then he’d gone back to incessantly bothering Logan, and Peter had to plant himself in Wade’s lap to distract him lest Logan changed his mind about telling Peter about Wade. 

Logan takes a sip of his coke and makes a face, pushing the cup away from him. Then he lets out a loud burp and sits back in his seat. “You know about Weapon X, kid?”

Peter perks right up. “Kind of. Well, I did kind of have a look over the files Mr Stark has and got the general gist. But I didn’t look too hard. It wasn’t- nice.”

Logan makes another face. “Not nice is a fucking understatement. But yeah, an offshoot of them got hold of me again about a decade ago, the sneaky motherfuckers, called themselves Department K or whatever. Met Wilson there; they were trying to make him another me, I guess. He was less avocado face than he is now, though. Guess they got him to mutate, but I was long gone by then; escaped that hellhole as soon as I could. When I came back to destroy the place he’d already gone, there was no trace of him. What I managed to read through of their files he’d been eliminated as a failure. Guess they didn’t do a very good job.”

Peter looks at Wade’s face with big eyes. Weapon X. He knew something terrible must’ve happened to Wade, but he didn’t think- he didn’t think it was that bad. Human experimentation, torture, brainwashing… And god, if Wade had been dumped on that island around ten years ago, that means he’d been alone for a  _ decade.  _

“Wade Winston Wilson,” Mr Stark says, bringing up a hologram from his workstation as he munches his fries. “Canadian, born in 1973. Army brat, sealed juvenile criminal record, dishonourable discharge from U.S. Special Forces in 2001. Last record of him is a hospital visit for late stage terminal cancer in 2009.”

_ Terminal cancer?!  _ Peter’s face goes pale, before he remembers Wade’s intense healing factor and the fact that if Wade still had cancer he would’ve been long dead by now. His hand squeezes Wade’s tighter, and Wade makes a small, worried sound, nosing into his hair soothingly. 

A picture is next to the information Mr Stark is reading off. It’s Wade, no doubt, same facial structure, but his skin is smooth and he has a full head of brown hair. He’s wearing a rakish grin, one single scar runs through his left eyebrow, and he’s got fashionable stubble over his jaw. He’s  _ gorgeous,  _ but he’s not Peter’s Wade. And Peter’s Wade is so handsome as well, and not in spite of the scars. 

Wade goes quiet, his lips pressed together as he stares at the photo of his old self. Peter presses a kiss to his cheek, his hand holding Wade’s over his heart.  _ I love you just as you are,  _ he thinks fiercely. He hopes Wade understands.

“Do you know how he ended up stranded on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?” Peter asks Logan. 

“No fucking clue,” Logan grunts, shrugging, and Peter sighs. 

“What about this weird metal thing that’s in his head?” Peter tries. “Wade, he- fell, and before he healed up, something crawled right back into his skull.” Peter shudders at the memory, thankful that he’s in Wade’s lap and Wade is very real and warm and whole under him. “I think it had something to do with his language problems.”

Again, Logan shrugs. “Weapon X, Department K, what the fuck ever, they’re cruel, sick fuckers. It wouldn’t surprise me if they put something in his head if he resisted brainwashing to fuck with his mind. God knows Wilson loved to talk; making sure he couldn’t anymore would probably be the worst torture they could think of.”

Mr Stark leans up against the table, squinting at Wade. “We could scan him, see what’s going on?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, pushing away his food. He’s not hungry anymore. “That would be awesome.”

~~~

It’s quick work, scanning Wade’s head. Logan stays outside of the lab, citing he hates that place, too white and sterile, and Wade doesn’t look too keen on it either, but he follows Peter in when Peter coaxes him. 

“Yeah, it’s dug into his language centres,” Mr Stark mutters as he looks over the hologram of the scan of Wade’s brain. The parts of his brain are coloured differently and labeled; the ones that the device has burrowed its spindly legs into are coloured bright red and labeled  _ Broca’s area, Wernicke’s area  _ and  _ angular gyrus.  _ “I’m no medical professional, but I’m pretty sure that would fuck your comprehension of language right up. We’re gonna have to speak to Dr. Cho, when she’s got time. That doesn’t look easy to remove.”

But the important thing is, it’s something that  _ can  _ be removed. Peter looks up at Wade’s strangely blank face as he gazes at his own scan, hopeful that maybe they’ll be able to talk one day.

~~~

Dr Cho and her team are busy looking after patients from the attack and don’t have a lot of time for someone with a not so urgent matter, so Peter and Wade help with the rebuild of New York in the meantime. Peter adamantly rejects Logan’s idea for him to just cut Wade open with his claws and rip the damn thing out; first of all, it’s barbaric, and second of all, it would hurt and kill Wade, and Peter has absolutely no wish to see Wade dead again and have to suffer through coming back to life. So they wait, and help out with the rebuild efforts.

There’s so much to do; Steve and Mr Stark are helping with coordinating clean-up efforts and teams scouring the city for survivors that missed the evacuations. It’s a massive undertaking; New York has never been so destroyed that it’s easy to get disheartened when Peter gets a good look at all the desolation. But being back with his friends and family helps keep his spirits up, and Wade is always close by for hugs and kisses and somehow always having some kind of snack to give to Peter. 

They get help from other cities that weren’t so badly hit, and countries that weren’t seen as important to the aliens that they didn’t focus any sort of fire power on. It’s amazing to see the world coming together. Peter just wishes that it didn’t have to be a devastating attack from outer space that did it.

After a while, Dr Cho becomes available for small sessions, and between her, Wade, Dr Banner, Mr Stark and some testing of Wade’s powers, they come up with some sort of solution. Dr Cho is adamant on doing as little as possible to damage Wade in the process of the device’s removal, but there’s only so much you can do to dig out something buried deep in someone’s brain and Mr Stark doesn’t seem too worried once Peter says that he’s seen Wade come back to life. Peter wants Wade to be in as little peril as possible, but he hates that he’s relieved that Wade will probably heal from whatever they do to him. He’s also terrified that Wade might not; he has no real idea what causes Wade to have his powers or how they work, but he reasons that it’s a small chance that Wade’s powers will just stop working. The thing he presses most is that he wants Wade to feel as little pain as possible. 

It turns out that Wade’s mutation means that he burns through anaesthesia like it’s nothing, so they have to keep him pumped full of the stuff, and Dr Cho is going to have to do the removal quick and dirty, since Wade heals so fast. Wade looks positively terrified sitting in the contraption they’ve got him in for the surgery, upright and strapped in, and Peter holds his hands as he slips under, chewing at his lip.

“He’ll be fine, Pete,” Dr Cho says.

“I know,” Peter whispers. “I just- I hate seeing him so scared.”

~~~

Peter has Wade moved from the surgery room back to his room before the anaesthesia wears off, since he knows Wade hates any kind of lab looking place, and Peter has no idea what state of mind Wade’s going to be in.

He waits next to Wade’s bedside, chewing his nails as the time for the anaesthesia to be burnt out of Wade’s system passes and Wade still doesn’t wake. There’s a new scar on the back of Wade’s head, faded already, and Dr Cho had been absolutely positive that Wade’s brain had grown back from the damage completely normal, but that she wasn’t sure how Wade would be if he woke up. Brains are tricky things, and even though Wade had regrown his brain from falling from the tree back on the island and been fine, Peter’s still anxious.

May sits with him for a while, but then leaves to go and collect lunch. Peter’s successfully chewed all his nails as short as he can without drawing blood, so he ends up pacing the room, watching the holographic monitoring information on Wade’s brain happily continue to indicate that Wade is very much asleep, but not dreaming. 

“You like napping way too much,” Peter grumbles to himself, turning away and bending over his desk to rummage through his pile of books and magazines he’s managed to find while helping the massive New York clean up. He’ll distract himself with a mechanical engineering textbook or something.

“Damn, dat ass though,” someone rasps, and the textbook slips through Peter’s fingers and thumps onto the floor. He straightens up and turns around to see Wade sitting up in bed, a huge grin across his scarred face. 

“Wade?” Peter asks.

“That’s my name, baby boy, don’t wear it out,” Wade winks, and for some reason Peter’s frozen, standing there blinking as Wade gets out of bed and walks towards him. 

“Baby boy?” is all he manages to whisper as Wade pulls him close. 

“Well, I don’t actually know your name, so I’ve been calling you baby boy in my head. And sugar lips, sweetheart, angel of the morning, bambi, cupcake, honey, bubblebutt, pumpkin, snookums, sweet cheeks, pudding, stud muffin, tootsie, pootsie, et cetera, et cetera,” Wade rambles and Peter can only just blink as he’s bombarded with terrible nicknames. “But my favorite was baby boy,” Wade purrs, bumping their noses together.

“Peter,” Peter says, “my name- it’s Peter.”

“Hello, Peter,” Wade whispers, “I’m Wade. It’s nice to finally be able to understand you. I’m gonna hope my penchant for incessant talking isn’t going to scare you off.” His lips brush against Peter’s with every word.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Peter squeaks, blushing red, and why does it feel like even though he  _ knows  _ Wade, that this feels like a completely different side to him, enough to make him shy? 

“Good,” Wade says against his mouth. “Cos I have an entire month’s worth of compliments about you saved up that are just  _ waiting  _ to grace your pretty ears.” He kisses Peter hot and deep, lifting him up onto the desk behind him as Peter wraps his legs around Wade’s waist and his arms around Wade’s shoulders. 

“I guess you’re fully recovered then,” Peter gasps as Wade bites at his neck.

“Fully recovered and ready to go,” Wade grins, “and ready to listen to you screaming my name, Petey-Pie. Jesus fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Peter goes bright red. Wade leans down and kisses him again, simultaneously fumbling at Peter’s belt. Their kiss breaks and Peter puts a hand against Wade’s chest, making him pause as Peter gasps for breath. “Stop, stop.”

Wade immediately stills, a flash of insecurity sparking in his eyes that Peter hates. “No, I mean just- wait for a second. I-” Peter goes even redder under his freckles, if that’s possible, but meets Wade’s gaze with his. He moves his palm across Wade’s chest, so it rests over Wade’s heart. “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me. And that- that I love you.”

Wade’s eyes go molten and dark, his expression soft and overwhelmingly affectionate. “Baby boy, you were the one who saved me from going completely bonkers,” he says quietly, “and got that damn thing out of my head. I should be the one thanking you.” He kisses Peter again, achingly tender. 

“And I love you too,” he says against Peter’s mouth. Peter whines and kisses him, and then Wade is pressing him down and back into the desk, murmuring every sweet thing that he’d been saying to Peter for as long as he’d known him, and everything else that comes to mind.

Peter loves every word.


	12. epilogue

_ 9 years ago.  _

~~~

Ajax can’t believe it’s come to this.

“Fucking Wilson and his stupid fucking undying piece of shit mutation,” he says to himself over the sound of the jet. “Can’t do anything right, can he, can’t even fucking die properly.”

He slaps the side of the laptop screen showing the map of where they currently are; it flickers once, twice, and then finally dies.

“Fuck!” He shouts and throws the thing over his shoulder. It shatters against the metal box shaped prison, the only thing in the jet’s hold. “Nothing fucking works for me anymore,” he grumbles. “Department K can kiss my ass, it was their shit equipment that didn’t work on Wilson. Now I’m the one who has to get rid of his fuck ugly ass.”

He brushes the sweat off his forehead and stands, turning to face the metal box. He slams his fist against the door and then slides open the little window, peering inside.

Brown eyes, glinting in the dark, stare back. 

“You hear that, Wilson? I’m getting rid of you once and for all. Dumping you in the deepest, darkest trench of the Pacific Ocean in this metal thing. You’ll sink all the way to the bottom, and you’ll drown and revive just to drown again. It’s almost poetic, really.” 

Wilson yells at him, slamming his body up against the door. Ajax laughs at the senseless gibberish that pours from the man’s mouth and spits through the window. “Gotta say, the scars aren’t an improvement, but the not talking is. Only thing Department K could do right.”

An arm shoots through the space of the window and Ajax jerks back, but not in time to dodge a finger right to the eye. “Fuck!” He shouts, blinking against the red blurring across his vision. “You little-  _ fuck!”  _ He can’t feel the pain, but it’s going to be the fucking worst if he only has one working eye.

Fury builds up in his chest. “That’s it, you freak.” He slams the window shut and stalks over to the panel on the left wall, slamming the button on it. The cargo door opens and he holds onto a strap as he looks down into blackness. There’s no way to tell if they’re over ocean or land.

“Fuck it,” Ajax says to himself. Last time he’d looked at the map they’d been over ocean, spotted with the tiniest spits of land. There’s only one chance in a billion they’re over land right now. He walks behind the metal prison, places a boot against one of the walls and shoves. The box moves a meter closer to the open hole in the floor, metal screeching against metal. 

Inside, he can hear Wilson shouting. Grinning, Ajax gives one last shove, and the metal prison falls.

~~~

_ Almost 9 years later. _

~~~

Wade watches the storm grow on the horizon for hours. There’s nothing else to do on this little paradise island of hell, so he just sits on the sand and lets the crabs crawl around him, watching shapes form in the grey clouds. Sometimes he thinks he recognises some of them, but the thought slips away from him like water over smooth stones before it can fully form. It used to drive him so crazy that he’d bash his own head in with a coconut at least three times a day, but after years of being here alone it had gotten pretty old pretty quickly.

The first flash of lightning sparking over the ocean has him clapping and cheering. You had to make your own entertainment when you were stranded on a deserted island, after all. 

It doesn’t take long for the storm to arrive. The wind batters at Wade’s form and the rain falls upon him in sheets, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the beach even as the ocean roils angrily in front of him. Being inside the chaos makes Wade feel alive; even though he can’t die, he’s not living, not really. He’s just existing here, waiting for the world to end so he can finally escape this place. 

Something bright ignites in the clouds, something that isn’t lightning. It keeps burning orange and red and breaks apart, and Wade watches silently as it falls and disappears into the ocean.

When the storm finally breaks and the sky is a bright, calm blue, a young man washes up on the sand. For a long while Wade just stands and stares at him, wondering if he’s having another hallucination. The man doesn’t fade away so Wade turns him over carefully and presses his fingers against his throat, feeling for a pulse. It’s weak and thready, but there. Relieved, Wade sits back, staring down at him.

He has brown hair, long eyelashes and faint freckles over a small nose. He’s in bad shape, battered and bruised and bleeding in places, and as Wade carefully feels over him for broken bones, he gasps awake.

He’s got brown eyes as well, murky and unfocused, but pretty. He rasps something, voice grating and pained, before he falls back unconscious. 

_ I’m not alone anymore,  _ Wade thinks to himself, tracing a finger over the man’s cheek. Smiling, he carefully lifts the man’s body and cradles him to his chest.  _ Let's get you all patched up, baby boy,  _ he thinks as he carries him to the cave.  _ I think we’re going to get along swimmingly!  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Pretty please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, or leave a kudos! I appreciate every one of them. <3 <3


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